Vengeance belongs to me, I will recompense
by sweetmissbean
Summary: Jack seeks revenge on the man responsible for the murder of Teague and uncovers dark secrets of the Keeper of the Code. AU/Post AWE
1. Prologue

**- Prologue -**

_"I know my uses. I have my pride. But my heart is still untamed. I've learned my lessons. I've conquered Death. I go on and I'm unashamed."_

_- Slipknot, Vendetta -_

-//-

_"I want to be a captain just like you!" The boy announced, scooting his bottom across the sand to be next to his father who sat on the beach strumming his guitar in harmony with the rising tide._

_"No, Jackie, you never want to be just something. You always want to be the _best_ at something. Never settle."_

_The boy's dark eyes flashed with excitement and wonder as he pointed to the unknown beyond the horizon, "Then I want to be the best captain to ever sail the seven seas! I will have the fastest ship and the toughest crew! I will be so famous that the whole world will know my name!"_

_"Well," his father said with a gruff chuckle, "before you embark on your first adventure, I have a gift for you. It is something every captain needs."_

_"Is it the best?"_

_"That will be for you to decide, I wager." He smiled, pleased with his young son's clever question. He placed the guitar in his lap and twisted around to his guitar case. When he turned back, he knighted his wide-eyed boy with a crisp new leather tricorne. _

_"It's too big."_

_He could barely see the boy's disappointed frown from under the hat's brim, but it was clearly evident in his tone._

_"Don't fret. One day it will fit." He assured, tipping the brim up far enough for the boy to see._

_"Promise?"_

_"I promise on the pain of death." _

_"Then it is the best, because you gave it to me." The boy beamed and wrapped his arms around his new hat, pushing it down over his eyes again. _

_"You earned it. Earn what you need. Don't wait for it to be simply given to you."_

_"Earn the things I want?"_

_"You earn what you need," he said, tipping the boy's hat back once again. "Take what you want. Give nothing back." He turned and locked his guitar back in its case._

_"You are leaving again?" the boy said, more a statement than a question. _

_He gazed out over the water, the frothy curls of the surf calling his name and beckoning him to return and be consumed yet again. _

_"That's the nature of life on the sea. You are here one day and gone the next." _

-//-

Retaliation, reciprocation, and justification all hold their own meanings but, ultimately, are more virtuous sounding pseudonyms for revenge. He was not seeking apology or compensation. What he wanted was a death for a death. It was a time for action and reaction, and his single swing pendulum was already in motion.

'Death has a way of reshuffling one's priorities.' When Jack first uttered this statement, he was referring to his own death. The memory of sharp fangs tearing his flesh and his soul withering in the endless void of the Locker was still fresh in his tormented mind. He had been betrayed that day. Acceptance of that fact was possibly more painful then the actual dying. His situation, although ending in the same result, had been different. He knew his murderer by name, by sight, and by taste. His murderer had the moxie to face him before, during, and after the deed. He respected his murderer.

His father had been shot in the back in his own home, left face down on the floor, and cheated of the honorable death at sea he deserved. His father's murderer was a coward.

Captain Edward Teague stood for honor, respect, and order. He was a gentleman amongst scoundrels, a voice of reason and experience, and a pillar in the pirate world. He was a man who held the Pirata Codex in such high regard that the Pirate Lords appointed him its Keeper. It was not right that history would claim a man of such distinction had apparently died for nothing. History could be re-written and Jack held the figurative quill. Jack's ambitions of finding the Fountain of Youth and recapturing the _Black Pearl _ran in parallel veins that circulated his purpose and drive. Now, as his father lay naught but bones, his blood pulsed with a new mission. Old ambitions now played second fiddle.

Sao Feng's charts were secure in a hidden location. He had a lifetime to search for immortality. The Fountain would have to wait. Jack would get the _Black Pearl _back. He believed it was just a matter of patience and strategy. He had done so before but hoped it would take less than ten years this time around. It is not easy to simultaneously avoid and actively seek an individual. With help of a silent partner, Jack was able to stay one step ahead of Barbossa who was still searching for the Fountain of Youth as best he could without the charts by following the numerous ancient stories and legends of its secret location.

Although he hated to do it, Jack had to give his rival due credit. Barbossa always claimed to be a man of integrity and honor and was proving both to be fact now, though it had nothing to do with Jack independently. Barbossa respected the Code and the Keeper and was satisfied, at least for now, to give Jack the leniency needed to delve into his newest obsession, a hunt that just may bleed the very life from him.

Barbossa was not the only of the other Pirate Lords to show solidarity with Jack's endeavor. Each volunteering whatever information they had no matter its size or, in some cases, relevancy. With their petty differences temporary put aside, it appeared that finding Teague's murderer was the second unanimous agreement reached by the Lords, with the first being the bonding of Calypso reached in the First Court. Jack hoped the outcome of this agreement would fare better than the first.

There was one name that repeatedly surfaced within these accounts: Adolfe Godenot.

This name would lead Jack to his father's murderer. It was time for vengeance and vengeance would be his.

* * *

A million thanks to **Calathiel of Mirkwood** for signing on as my beta for this voyage.


	2. Chapter 1: Laura Allister

- Chapter 1: Laura Allister -

_"Beware what stalks you in the night_

_Beware the she-wolf and her bite_

_her mystic lips tell only lies_

_her hidden will to kill in disguise"_

- Megadeth, She-wolf -

-//-

The woman made her living by doing things for money, but not by postulated means.

Jack sought her for those very reasons.

This is why he had placed a red rose on the moss-covered gravestone of John Candor, a man of no consequence to Jack who had been buried for longer than he'd been alive. Jack had no reason to believe that she herself knew of John Candor and assumed that she only used his gravesite because of its obscure location in the rear corner of the cemetery.

Jack was in Covent Garden district of London with a purpose to recruit Laura Allister.

Perhaps _recruit_ was not the correct word as _request_ was more accurate.

Here he sat waiting for her at the open-air cafe across the street from the potter's cemetery. That was part of her game. If you wanted her services, you would place a rose on the grave and wait, it was the first test. If she felt you had earned her audience, she'd listen to your proposed payment and mission. Tests two and three. Laura would consider the terms and assess the worth of the venture. If accepted, she'd take payment up front and carry out her end of the bargain with a surgeon's precision. If she didn't accept, it was in best interests of the person asking for her services to give her some amount for payment to apologize for wasting her time.

Laura's origins into her baneful field were all laced in the realm of rumor. The most heard of these rumors was that she loved and wed a poor lowly deckhand, spent only a month as his wife before he joined the pirate crew of the _Sea Horse _seeking fortune, and that her beloved's vessel met a bad fate when attacked by a privateer and was never heard of again. Without a husband's wages, Laura found herself in dire standing and had to fend for herself or starve. Normally, women of such fates were left with three choices: beg in the streets, return to their parents' house, or shame themselves into prostitution. Laura was too proud to beg. She had no family to return to and her husband's family was too poor to support another mouth. Laura, fully believing that her love would one day return to her, refused to ever be intimate with another man.

The second half of Laura's story was always different depending on its teller. The version that Jack favored to believe was that the woman took on small jobs for her wealthier neighbors and she discovered that jobs of a 'certain distinction' proved not only to be more profitable, but that she excelled at them as well. As her reputation grew, Laura was birthed as the _Virginal Widow_ because her passions belonged solely to her husband.

What Jack did know; Laura was dangerous, skilled, inconspicuous, and completely apathetic.

The temperature was dropping with the sun, but the street was still alive with the sounds of goods and services being bartered and amounts haggled. There was a hive of merchants who had traveled up the Thames River to trade and sell their goods from all ports of the world. Jack observed that some of these merchants demonstrated unconscious twitches that exposed them as pirates: the constant scanning eyes, the tense shoulders, the ever-ready shooting hand. To the typical law abiding citizen, these actions would appear so trivial that they would never notice or expect any illegitimacy, but it takes one to know one.

Equally busy were the evening ladies of the Covent Garden. Deft entrepreneurs of their craft, these women drew their own flock of clientele and were more than willing to part their merchant counterparts from their days earnings.

Normally, this atmosphere of black market trade and harlotry reminiscent of Tortuga, would feel second nature to Jack. Although his probable meeting with Laura was amidst the growing night crowd, he knew that a public assassination was not above the range of her talents and it was always possible she had been hired to take on a hit against the very person who wished to hire her. In his case, that could be himself. He was alert but did his best to remain anonymous and not draw any unwanted attention.

The server returned with his order of tea that as soon as her back was turned, because he was polite after all, had a sizable measure of rum added to spice up the flavor. He wrapped his hands around the warm cup and savored the rummed tea's sweet aroma. Jack realized that there was a subtle curving at the corners of his mouth. With the commotion, the seamen, the women, and the cup in his hands, he couldn't help but remember the first time he met the Virginal Widow.

-//-

"Mister Gillette!"

"Yes, Captain."

"Would you be so kind as to fetch us another round!" Jack requested merrily, tossing his purse to his new first mate.

"On the double, sir." Gillette swept up the purse and began to weave his way through the crowd towards the bar of the English pub.

Jack's spirits were high and he was in the mood to celebrate. He had just been commissioned with the East India Trading Company and ready to make sail with the golden hulled, white sailed beauty the _Wicked Wench_. Actually, Jack was more surprised than anything else that the Company would put such a ship in command with one as inexperienced as he was. True, Jack had been at sea for years, literally since birth, but as a captain he was still an amateur.

Gillette, also considered young for his position, was eager to set sail and didn't seem to mind his new captain's lack of experience. The man must have blind faith. Jack liked him already.

Jack downed the last swallow from his mug and plunked it down onto the table. A stubby fingered man roused an old sea ditty from an old violin. It was debatable if it was the player or the instrument that was out of tune, but a boisterous group of sailors began to slur the words of the song nonetheless. He had the urge to join them, but his throat had grown dry waiting for Gillette to return with the evening's next round.

"Where the hell is that man? Insubordinate already... haven't even left port yet..." He grumbled while scanning the patrons clustered around his table, his fingers drumming unconsciously on the table in chorus with the song's irregular beat.

"Good evening, sir." A soft feminine voice whispered into his ear from behind him, her lips brushing his lobe as a slender finger ran down his cheek to his neck.

"Evenin'," he replied, shifting in his chair to face a freckle-skinned woman whose appearance he'd describe as 'plain decorated with comely eyes and pouty lips.' Disregarding the sordidness of her profession, he felt there was an air of dignity about the woman that suggested that she should be treated with respect simply because respect was due to her.

She smiled expectantly.

"And how are we this night, darlin'?" he asked, already assuming what she wanted and looking her over shamelessly.

She shrugged, playing coy and obviously trying to reel him in, her smile not fading.

"Since you seem to be doing quite well," he continued, enticed, "I'll ask what you're offerin' this night?"

There was a twinkle in her eyes in response to his flirting yet, for some unknown reason, he couldn't help but sense that something was different about this enchanting lady of the evening. Closing the distance between them, the woman set herself into his lap and continued to trace her finger along his exposed collarbone.

"How about... you tell me _who_ you are... then I'll tell you _what_ I am... and what I have to offer..." she breathed seductively.

"Well, my dainty lass," he said slipping his arm around her waist, "you are currently in the presence of the captain whose ship is the fastest in all the Atlantic Ocean."

"Really?" she said a little bitingly, knowing a sailor's habit to exaggerate.

"It's true darlin', I assure you. The _Wicked Wench _can out sail any other ship of the King's Navy."

Her smile widened and excited Jack's wanton side.

"You are the captain of the _Wicked Wench_?" She asked, fiddling with one of the braids on his chin.

"Captain Jack Sparrow in the flesh."

"Captain Jack Sparrow, ah, I thought it was you. Heard a lot about you, I have."

"Have you?" Jack ran his hand up her thigh and he swore he saw a brief flash of intense wrath discolor her irises when his hand came to rest on her rump.

"Oh yes," her voice lowered as her smile turned malicious.

It was at that point that Jack started to grow suspicious of the woman on his lap. As his expression changed, the woman leaned her body against his chest pinning him in his chair.

"I offer a message from a party, with whom we are both acquainted, that hired me to deliver it to you, Captain Jack Sparrow." She whispered quickly, stopping him from pulling a weapon.

"Is that _what_ you are, a messenger?" he hissed, sliding his hand up her back to hold her by the nape of her neck.

"Sometimes," she answered unafraid, and then added lightly with one finger raised, "This time."

The woman had Jack's complete attention as she delivered her message.

Gillette returned as the woman climbed off Jack's lap and quietly took her leave.

"A charming looker she is, Captain, if I may be bold enough to say so." Gillette said jovially, sliding a full mug across the table to Jack.

Gillette's smile disappeared when Jack turned to him, pale and visibly distraught.

"Who was that?" Gillette asked his young captain.

"Laura Allister."

-//-

Laura had vicariously taught Jack a valuable lesson about not trusting first impressions. If she had been hired to assassinate him that night, the world would not been graced with his intermittently lustrous career. He and the world had been lucky.

In some ways, he was flattered. Laura only took on jobs that piqued her interest. As young as he was at the time, he was glad to see that he was already turning heads and ruffling feathers enough that Captain Diego of the _Cuervo Azul_, felt it necessary to hire someone with the prominence of the Widow to deliver his message "pay your debt or else" to Jack and that Laura herself deemed it worthy enough to accept. Unfortunately for Captain Diego, Laura had been contracted to dispatch him by another party previous to their meeting. After she delivered his message to Jack, she returned and carried out her initial mission to dispose of Diego, after she received payment from him of course.

A two for one deal. Clever girl.

Another issue that potentially hindered Jack's plan was that Laura abstained to travel beyond the shores of England for she wanted to be home on the day her husband returned to her. Jack believed he had reason enough, if she was willing to listen to it.

"Captain Jack Sparrow," his name trilled off a feminine tongue as a red rose brushed across his cheek.

"Evenin' Laura," he said even before turning towards her and offering his best smile.

"Both hands on the table, thank you."

He did as instructed and pushed a chair out for her with his foot under the her arms, she eyed his companion at his right suspiciously.

"Oh!" Jack said casually, acting if he'd just remembered he'd not come alone. "No worries darlin', he's not armed. Right, Hector?"

The old Port Royal mongrel thumped his tail on the cobblestone pavement confirming his owner's claim. Laura gave Hector one final frigid glance before disregarding the dog completely and sat down across from Jack. Hector didn't appear put off and curled himself around Jack's boots, dragging the key tied around his neck along the cobblestones.

Jack's devious side wished he'd not been chivalrous in pushing out a chair for her and had instead offered her his lap where she sat during their last encounter. Luckily, for his own sake, his logical side spoke louder than his devious side.

The setting sun lit a halo around her silhouette as she sniffed the rose in a way that added to her mystique before setting it down gently in the center of the table. She said nothing, only stared blankly at the cobblestones and waited for him to initiate dialogue.

Jack tried to order a tea for Laura, he was polite after all, but the server made it clear that she would not come near the table now that Laura was seated there. The server had been witness to enough of Laura's other meetings to sense the woman's precarious nature.

"Thank you kindly, darlin', for agreein' to meet me."

She smiled with false pleasantness and Jack decided to get to the point.

"There is a man I'd like distracted," He paused and leaned in further, and flexing his hand in a motion to emphasize his point, he said again sternly, "_distracted_." Jack then settled back in his seat and continued, "In Plymouth, the capital city of Montserrat, Caribbean."Her nose wrinkled as she nodded, still looking at the spot on the floor. He knew that small facial gesture was not a good sign.

"Precisely six months from this very day," Jack added.

Laura nodded again. Her face expressionless.

"A ship leaves a month from tomorrow on which I've taken the liberty to arrange passage for you."

Laura's dainty hand rose to her chin as her head tipped back and she absently stared at a distant point over her shoulder as if disinterested in the company she currently found herself.

"I also paid for the passage." He said, his voice higher and less confident than before, as he saw that she was preparing to stand and leave.

If Jack wanted her services, he quickly needed to produce a good reason or a good sum for her to invest her time on his inquiry. He had both.

He cleared his throat and straightened in his chair. "This man is a key figure in a matter of personal interest. Though, I fear you may feel this below your standard market to simply detain a mark, I want someone professional to tend to this matter and am willing to pay handsomely for such professionalism."

He lifted his hand to reveal two brilliant rubies. If Laura was impressed by his offered payment, she did an excellent job of hiding it.

He covered the rubies and continued. "See, darlin', I am going fishin'. And there are essentials, which every angler knows are quite necessary before a line can be cast, and prey seined. This man...whom you are to _distract," _he said, splaying his fingers for emphasis again_, _"is me lure. Though not very attractive himself and unlikely to snare anything alone on his onesie... has something in his possession that is quite alluring and that, darlin', is a large leather bound book. That book is me worm. There are fish, hungry with assumedly dark ambitions, who want to sink their wretched teeth into this worm for curious reasons... and that is why I'd like for you to only _distract_ this man. He will draw out said fish which I aim to catch."

"What you're dangling has no appeal to me," she said cynically.

"Fine, fine. Perhaps a different bait then." Jack's voice dipped to a conspiratorial tone as a matching smile crept across his lips, "Did I fail to mention that the ship on which I've arranged both passage and payment... is the _Sterling_."

Laura only had one failure on record and it was one of intimate note. That was the only reason that Josue Leocadio, the captain of the _Sterling,_ still breathed. Jack knew that using the _Sterling_ was a gamble and as her jaw set and deep red burnt upon her cheeks, he regretted playing it so soon. Josue Leocadio was the privateer who claimed to have sunk the _Sea Horse_. He had also earned a reputation for leaving no survivors.

Laura leaned forward out of the light of the setting sun and darkened the very shadow that surrounded her. With both elbows set on the table, her chin resting on slender intertwined fingers, she captured Jack in an unblinking, malevolent stare and he struggled not to visibly shudder with the tension she was creating in his stomach. There was something almost primal in her eyes that he had not seen during their first encounter causing him to fear he'd kindled a fire that now smoldered with feral animosity. They engaged in this strained silence for a long moment as, Jack assumed, Laura considered on his offer or killing him for the non-incidental mention of Leocadio.

He needed the first.

Her hand glided across the table and swept the rubies out from under his palm.

"As you were saying, six months from this day, in Montserrat, there is a man carrying a book whom you'd like... _distracted_."

She was interested.

* * *

Thanks again to Calathiel of Mirkwood for her wonderful Beta skills!


	3. Chapter 2: 'Saint' Samuel Augustine

_The following chapter contains some harsh language. Reader discretion is advised._

* * *

**- Chapter 2: 'Saint' Samuel Augustine -**

_"People I've loved__  
__I have no regrets__  
__Some I remember / Some I forget__  
__Some of them living / Some of them dead"_

- Foo Fighters, Home -

-//-

After Jack left London, he had moved west to the Welsh shipping port of Cardiff. He trekked the docks until he came upon the _Zenith_, a single-mast sloop that had seen her better days some twenty years prior, being loaded with iron ore, oats, and barley to be shipped to nearby Bristol. The condition of the _Zenith's_ captain could be described in the same manner as his ship, weathered, tired, but adamant. 'Saint' Samuel Augustine's health and dexterity had declined in recent years, but he was too stubborn to give up a life under sail entirely, Samuel resigned himself to stay within the merchant shipping lanes surrounding Britain.

'Saint' Samuel Augustine was not a particularly religious man. Samuel was unceremoniously sainted by the late Captain Teague years before when he'd lost a card game to him in the Haitian port of St. Nicholas. As happened, he also bared an uncanny resemblance to Saint Nicholas, for whom the port was named, with a waist length beard. But the main reason that Teague gave him the nickname was from the presents, in the form of payments, he received annually from Samuel in order pay off his debt to Teague. Few people knew of this arrangement as per understanding between the two men.

As decades passed, a partnership deeply rooted in mutual respect had formed between the two captains that could better be described as friendship. Anyone seeking reinforcement of this fact need only look as far as Teague's home base in Madagascar, Saint Augustine's Bay, which he named after Samuel.

When Jack spotted Samuel at the base of the _Zenith's_ gangplank, the weathered captain was vulgarly berating a young deckhand for spilling a bushel of fruit on the dock, and at one point, kicked him in the backside as the lad frantically tried to pick up the littered fruit.

Samuel suddenly cut off from reprimanding the unfortunate young man when he noticed Jack from the corner of his eye. He snapped around to face Jack and in a moment the length of two heart beats, expressions of fear, anger, and rancor flashed in waves across the elder man's face. Jack slowed his pace and Samuel continued his intense glare, his face changing from ashen back to his usual hue of sea-worn red. As Samuel studied Jack's dark and ornamented tangles, blackened eyes, and weathered complexion, Jack sensed that Samuel was not seeing him, but someone else entirely. In Jack's mind, he had no doubt that Samuel was envisioning a walking ghost of his departed partner.

The deckhand had also noticed the sudden shift in Samuel's focus. Still scooping bruised fruit into his arms, he bounced questioning glances between his captain and to the man unknown to him. When Samuel dismissed the deckhand with an agitated wave of his hand, the young man shot Jack a look of gratitude for saving him from further tongue lashing before scurrying up the gangplank to the _Zenith, _fruit in hand.

Even being plagued by incessant sore muscles and stiff joints in his legs and back, Samuel's forearms were still the girth of tree trunks and his mind remained sharp as glass and Samuel was either confident or stubborn enough to stand his ground and welcome any approaching threat. He made no attempt to meet Jack halfway and remained firmly planted in place with his arms crossed and skeptical glare unwavering.

"I'll tell ya first off that I'm not surprised to see ya here, boy," he stated dryly while extending his hand in a similar dry greeting.

Since the first time Jack had met the man nearly thirty-five years ago, it had always been 'boy'. He didn't care for it then and cared less for it now and felt certain that Samuel knew this but obviously didn't care. As he had learned from debates past, there would be no changing Samuel's mind once set, and he saw no sense in arguing with him now about something as insignificant as an ill-favored nickname when more important matters were at hand.

Jack met Samuel's handshake and felt his knuckles crack under the man's thick fingers_._

"So, the droll boy who don't see it fittin' to take his father's name finds it redeemin' to lower himself to seek his killer?" Samuel either didn't bother to wait for a response or care to have one, he was stating his opinion and nothing more. He instead addressed Hector when the dog padded up to his master's side.

"That cur is ugly as shit. Told y'old man the same thing." Samuel bent down and scratched Hector behind the ear.

"Ain't that right, pup?" he said, pleasantly welcoming the dog. Jack noted how the greeting he received was the exact opposite of Hector's.

"As you have already presumed, the untimely and ultimate death of the aforementioned antecedent is me purpose for droppin' by. For if there be such a man who could enlighten me on the man's final business transactions, in order derive a more probable and better understanding of accounts during his last days, I find meself hoping to gain audience with that very person whom said deceased always claimed as his most credible ally... and would be you, _Saint_ Samuel Augustine." He said, his voice rank with distain. Perhaps 'boy' annoyed him more then he cared to admit.

After hearing that Teague had revered him in such a high manner openly to his wayward son - and ignoring Jack's tone - Samuel straightened and his boorish exterior softened. He regarded Jack silently for several minutes as an apparent second wave of nostalgia washed over him.

"Y'old man was the only one I ever let call me that. I suppose it's suitin' to be comin' from you." He spoke finally and motioned for Jack to follow him aboard the _Zenith_. "We'll not speak on this here."

--

"Sit yerself there, boy." Samuel directed Jack to a chair tilting against the wall of his cabin while heaving himself down in the chair behind a small desk.

"So," Samuel continued, still dry but cordial, "ye've taken up wit y'old man's _Lady_?"

"Aye, I have," Jack answered, positioning the chair near the door and taking a seat as Hector curled at his feet.

"Good. She should be kept in the family... since she was named after yer mother n'all." Samuel fell thoughtful a second and then quirked a curious brow. "What ya doin'bout the _Black Pearl?_"

"I'll be gettin' her back, keep faith in that. This side venture reared its infringing fangs and consequently took top priority."

The idea that Jack Sparrow would temporary neglect his famous obsessive hunt for Hector Barbossa and his ship dispelled any lingering doubts Samuel felt about Jack's seriousness in avenging his father. He visibly became more open to communicate with the dead man's son.

Samuel removed a decanter of gin from the top drawer of the desk and filled two glasses to the brim. He handed Jack a glass and lifted his own, and toasted, "To the Pirate Lord of Madagascar. To the Keeper of the Code. To the man himself, Captain Edward Teague. May his soul sing eternally in the Buccaneer's Heart!"

"I'm sure he and Mary Read will get along famously," Jack said sarcastically and met Samuel's glass with his own.

As Samuel emptied his gin in one pull, Jack threw back a respectable amount and set his glass on the table. Gin was not his forte.

"I'll tell ya, when I first heard that Edward... " Samuel's voice caught in his throat for a second and he decided he needed more encouragement before he could continue. He downed another glass. "When I first heard what happened, I thought it was all jus' piss in the wind, a tall tale, a damn hoax. Then I heard it again, and again, and again after that." Samuel grew quiet for a long moment, as if organizing his thoughts into fact and fiction while absently stroking his beard. "I believed then," he said with a deep sigh.

His face turned red with anger. "Not right. None-of-it. There used to be honor in this world," he said with an irate wave of his weathered hand. "Even our world. That's what the Keeper stood for: honor." Samuel narrowed his eyes and asked, "Where be the Code, boy?"

"Safe."

In Jack's mind, he figured Samuel would rather not have the liability of knowing the Code's whereabouts. It seemed accurate as Jack's vague answer pacified Samuel enough for him to continue.

"So, a pirate be who yer after?"

"And an agnate one, as it were."

"W' New Shipwreck's coordinates barely known to mos' pirates, it would seem that way, ey?"

The tensing of Samuel's eyes was scant, but the involuntary flinch was enough to indicate to Jack that Samuel himself did not know the location of the new pirate capital.

"How exactly did you arrive at the notion that the rumor have fact base?"

"Erik."

"Johannes?"

Samuel nodded. "Letter baring his seal arrived..." his eyes and voice dropped, "confirmin'... " He then straightened and regained his composure. "Have ya spoken to him yet?"

"On me way back," Jack answered, motioning over his shoulder to the far off Caribbean.

"Who have ya spoke to?"

Jack spread his hands out wide implying it had been many and Samuel nodded.

"The Lords?"

"All but one... also on me way back."

Samuel nodded again, then tilted his head and asked inquisitively, "Santangelo?"

"Least helpful thus far," Jack answered with a twitch of his nose. "Then again, it would seem entirely impossible for Villanueva to divulge a lifetime's gatherin' of valuable information _and_ have it retained by that dolt." Jack snorted. "Hector here would prove more useful," he said, motioning to the dog curled around his feet.

Samuel's lack of argument confirmed that he held the same low opinion of the newly appointed Lord of the Adriatic Sea.

"Does the name _Godenot_ mean anything to you?" Jack asked, moving the conversation forward.

Samuel ran his hand down over his beard in thought. "No," he said earnestly. He cocked his head to one side. "Does it to you?"

"The name's come up a few times in my inquiries, deckhands and Lords alike."

Samuel's hand paused in the center of his beard and his eyes narrowed. The thought that Samuel had not heard even the slightest mention of Godenot from Johannes was odd, especially when considering Samuel's close association with him through Teague. Samuel smoldered on the thought for a few seconds more, clenching the glass in his hand until a hairline crack formed down its side.

"Ever met 'im? Johannes?" He asked flatly.

"No."

A wicked smirk cracked Samuel's face. "Ya'll like 'im," he said, although his tone implied the opposite.

Jack's eyebrow quirked and he waited for further explanation, but Samuel continued to speak of Teague's other partner in a business appropriate tone.

"Yer father, God rest 'im, was sly as a weasel but Johannes is slippery as one. Looks like one too, he does. The _Misty Lady_ and the _Grenadier _be two tangled harpies whom merchants fear and the Navy shies away from." He poured himself another drink and topped off Jack's cup. "Made a lot of money wit y'old man, he did. Surprised he has not contacted ya hisself to continue w'that profitable pairin'. But, now-that-I-think-'bout-it, the man never embarked on nothin' on his own."

"I wager not all alliances be based on equal standing... such as yers and his." Jack said, unsure what compelled him to voice the cheap shot.

Samuel slammed the bottle down, splattering gin over the desk, and shook an angry fist at Jack.

"I mean no disrespect, boy, but that bastard was a cheatin' sonofabitch!" Samuel's tone was sharp enough to cut the very ore he shipped, but his eyes exposed his own amusement with his situation with Teague. "He swaggered into that pub like he owned the place, hold, he swaggered around like he owned the whole damn island. With that gaudy feathered hat, ruffles 'bout that blood red frock... he wanted attention and got it from everyone alright. Stepped up and commandeered the card game, he did, the arrogant bastard. Bet the table a right sum he'd win the hand.

"Queens and sevens I had. Somehow, that sonofabitch comes out wit' Kings and Jacks. Just like that I find meself handsomely indebted to the man up to me own ass." He pounded his fist into the desktop. "I tell ya, there was no bloody way he could'ave pulled that off fairly. Not a damn fuckin' way! If I ever figure out how that feckless bastard did it, I tell ya I will hunt him down in Hell and kick his bilgy ass!"

Jack couldn't help but chuckle at Samuel's blustering. Teague was just as proficient navigating a deck of cards as he was the waters of Madagascar and never needed to resort to cheating, although Jack wouldn't put it pass him if he had. He suspected Samuel held the same opinion but would never say so and admit he'd lost fair and square.

"Sonofabitch," Samuel grunted under his breath before pitching more gin to the back of his throat. He settled back into his chair and stared off distantly with a faint smile on his face. "I was down to owin'im the final payment when he passed. Bought the finest wine, enough for the entire crew, and we drank to his memory until we were all ass up drunk."

"He'd appreciate that."

"Thought so." He looked back at Jack. "I can bitch and moan all I want 'bout loosin' that bet, but I tell ya in all honesty, even with paying him back, it was a profitable loss and I be a richer man for knowin'im in more ways than one. I will never sail with another the likes of 'im and am too old to even start lookin'. Now I sail the English waters and return every couple days to the wife."

"I'm sure she enjoys havin' ya around more often."

"She's drivin' me fuckin' nuts!" He snapped, but with an affectionate gleam in his eyes.

"Now that you are not venturin' beyond the Navy trolled shallows, the deep-drafted Indiamen returning fat from the Spice Islands must sleep a bit easier at night."

Samuel appeared flattered, just for a second. "Aye, " he said as he rested back heavily in his chair. His eyes dimmed and turned forlorn.

Jack recognized this downtrodden shadow of self-loathing. It was worn by many aged seamen facing the inevitable truth that end of their career was approaching. If the Fountain of Youth deigned to elude him, Jack hoped to be taken before his eyes ceased to shine. He drank to the oath by swiftly downing the gin in his glass.

"What were his last actions?" Jack asked, drawing the elder man back into the conversation.

Samuel tensed. His eyes darted about the cabin as he hesitated.

Jack leaned forward. It took all his patience to keep his tone neutral. He did not have time for diffidence. "Tis why I'm here."

Samuel sighed, conceding. "The last months that he was... we lost contact," he said quietly, his voice thick with guilt. He began to turn the glass in his hand, watching the light pigment in its crack. "Per praxis, the _Zenith_ sailed to be meet the _Lady_ at Sao Tome and divvy up spoils... but the _Lady_ ne'er showed. Waited for twenty days. Would'ave waited longer but we were low on provisions. Crew voted and we left. I'd be thinkin' y'old man found a hefty prize more worth-his-while to chase if he'd see fit to miss our exchange. Well... turns out there be some truth in that."

His eyes fixed on Jack's indicating that what he was about to say was to remain between them. Jack nodded and Samuel continued, his eyes returning to the glass pivoting in his hand.

"A letter from Edward found its way to me hands at Perim," Samuel said in a low voice. "T'was wrote on _Company_ parchment -"

"Stolen."

Samuel completely ignored the comment.

"- with the coat-o-arms of a Commodore Greitzer."

"Do you still have this letter?"

Samuel nearly laughed out loud. "Bit incriminating piece-o-paper don't ya think, boy?" he jeered incredulously.

Pushing his glass away, Samuel squared himself with the desk, his great forearms draped across its top. He puffed his cheeks and let the air out slowly, bracing himself for the secret he was about to reveal. He talked with a tone reserved for eulogy, solemn but even, as he recited the letter verbatim; his sun-reddened skin washed pale and the lattice surrounding his eyes deepened into crevices. He didn't blink and appeared to be holding his breath. If it wasn't for his mouth moving, Jack would suspect him dead.

Teague had given no apology or explanation for his absence at their scheduled meeting. After what sounded like several superfluous sentences about unseasonably cold weather, Teague described in great detail that the _Misty Lady_ was setting course to intercept a valuable shipment of cargo that was drifting into the hands of the East India Trading Company. No heading or date was given.

"I realize now, by the time I got the letter, Edward was already dead," Samuel concluded and relaxed back in his chair. He looked smaller somehow, as if a weight had been lifted from his body.

The contents of the letter were not particularly intriguing or helpful. It was what Samuel was _not_ saying that caught Jack's curiosity. Samuel would never utter a word on the subject, and certainly kill any man who'd dare, but his suspicions that Teague was involved with Commodore Greitzer in matters that were not to the benefit of the Brethren leaked threw his hardened shell like corrosive bilge. If Jack were a less respectful man or ignorant to the history behind Samuel and Teague, he would have vehemently confronted Samuel on his disloyal skepticism. Jack knew that Samuel would have tried everything in his power to forcefully squelch any ill thoughts he had against his esteemed partner. Even with Samuel's persistent dogging getting under his skin, Jack respected the man and never doubted his trueness where Teague was concerned. If Samuel had qualms about this Greitzer, then perhaps he was worth further inquiry.

Jack decided to probe for more information about Teague's induction as Keeper of the Code in hopes it would indicate anyone from his father's distant past that may have gestated a long-lived grudge.

"Let's venture a step back, shall we. What can you recall about events leading up to the title of Keeper being filled?"

Samuel appeared pleased that the subject had been changed and answered the new question in a lecturing tone. "Pirates, rough and unfettered as we be, owe much of our existence to the order the Code brought amongst these waters. Morgan and Bartholomew, buccaneer prophets they were, but their laws for the lawless would've amounted to nothin' without someone enforcin' 'em. So, the Court asked the one man they believed best for the job.

"Majority of the local gentlemen supported the idea." Samuel started listing off names, raising a different thick finger as he went. "Tew. Every. Condent. LeVasseur. Even England and Taylor and those two ne'er agreed on nothin'. And why not? Edward be one-of-the most feared and influential pirates of all of Madagascar, perhaps the world. He tolerated none of this 'guidelines' nonsense. The Code was law and that-was-that. He'd ne'er take the credit, but I tell ya I am sure as shit that it be Edward who laid down the lines for maroonin'." Samuel cut off long enough to tip his glass towards Jack with a crooked smirk on his face. Teague marooning his son for three days had been no secret and Samuel had always found it amusing.

"Now, I not be saying that wit' all his accomplishments and credits and e'en support of the Lords, that Edward was without hindrance. When the Court 'proached y'old man and he then resigned as Lord and took up as Keeper, some noses were thrown outta joint. 'Parently, everyone was only thinkin' of their own wants.

"Imagine that," Samuel grunted, "even I thought that he may pardon me of m'debt. I was wrong." He smirked at himself and continued, serious again.

"There's potential power in enforcin' such laws, as it would seem be the opinions of the skewed faces, but that's only 'cause they didn't see the big picture. The purpose of the position is to enforce the Code," he said, tapping the desk with his finger emphasizing every syllable, "not to rule those who follow it. Protection of piracy in general.

"In Madagascar alone, without his _Lady_ 'bout to fortify the Bay, the southern coast of the island and the Channel are left open and vulnerable to attack. Edward's presence alone kept enemies distant, even if merely rumored. _That'_s the measure of his influence_. _Scared outsiders feckless, he did. Scared the spineless feckless to be _without_ him.

"All piddlin' details, though. Mostly... it be jealously and nonsense," he paused, and then said with a pointed look, "such as the man's son becomin' a Pirate Lord."

"I earned the title of Lord of the Caribbean Sea by me own boons," Jack said coolly, his hands unconsciously curling into fists. He'd played a large part in ridding the seas of Davy Jones and the wretch Beckett, obtained the highest bounty of the Lords and that mule fodder had to be brought up. His father had nothing to do with any of these accomplishments.

"I'm suggestin' nothin', boy, only passing along an opinion made by someone else," Samuel clarified upon seeing Jack's reaction, saying his words intentionally slow. "I don't care how ya got where ya be. For me, doing what y'are now proves yer worth ten-fold."

The paltry opinions of others about his status in the Court never concerned Jack in the slightest. He cared not for their approval or rejection. For reasons indefinable, and equally puzzling, the approbation from Samuel proved validating and his hands relaxed.

Jack sat in silence as he absorbed all that Samuel had said. None of the information regarding Teague's position as Keeper of the Code, whether positive or negative, was surprising. After all, when dealing with an ocean of wood-headed scallywags and sea dogs, one could never please everybody.

"Don't know what else I can tell ya," Samuel said after a moment, "other than it's gettin' harder to make an honest life at piratin'. Even after the victory at Old Shipwreck, old alliances have been broken and pirates are turnin' 'gainst pirates. The Company keeps pushin' new trade restrictions. The Navy _valiantly_ increasin' its numbers wit' stronger ships carryin' more guns. There are less and less free ports out there and the few that are left are becoming less tolerant to those following our kilt.

"Condent, the miserable bastard, _somehow_ married and retired to France. Tew's dead. England's been gone for months. Kidd got his ass hung. Edward's... well, y'already know," he said with his eyes focused on the desktop. "Shit, look-at-me. Instead of a honest pirate, lightenin' the Company's hulls and profits, I be nothin' more than a dishonest merchant and I tell ya the only thing that differs 'tween the two is one's legal and one ain't."

At the end of his rant, Samuel took another drink of gin, this time directly from the decanter.

"Legitimacy has its perks. Less chance of gettin' gibbeted, for one example," Jack commented, after Samuel had fallen silent, lost in his reverie of past ventures.

The man tipped the decanter towards Jack in agreement. "Jus' imagine my carcass swingin' o'er the Thames," he said dryly, and then, grinning brightly, said good-heartedly, "they can hang me up next to Kidd."

Jack's grin and tone mirrored Samuel's. "Would take more than two ropes to snap that neck of yours... if it be half as thick as your head."

"Aye, I do miss the chase," Samuel said leaving Jack to wonder if he meant chasing the Indiamen, or being chased by the Navy.

"_'Round the Cape to Madagascar,' that_ is what Edward said," Samuel started, animating his fervor with a great whorl of his thick arm. "Pillage the Indian Ocean. Plunder the Red Sea. Raid the coasts of Africa. Moors, English, Hindi, French, Spanish... every last one! "_Take all we can'_ he said."

"Give nothin' back!"

Samuel's zeal was infectious and excitement rose within Jack. Even Hector yipped with enthusiasm.

"Aye! And we bloody hell did," continued Samuel, enthralled in his elation. "Filled our hulls to their brims. Left the company scuppered and sobbin' for their mommas."

"Pilfered your weasly black guts out!"

"Aye!" Samuel pounded the desk. "All who opposed us found their keels rottin' on the sea bottom! Victorious blaggards we be! Glory and bounty sought and captured! Carved our names into the backbone of pirate history!"

Suddenly, Samuel grabbed the gin decanter by its neck and sent the bottle crashing into the rear wall of his cabin.

"What be the fuckin' point of any-of-it now?" He shouted, standing abruptly and shaking with rage brought on by a flash flood of anger. "For the rein of piracy to continue, we need captains with ambition, Lords with sharp minds and a swingin' pair of stones, and a noble, stouthearted man with prudent faith in the Code to bridle all ruffian sons of the sea!

"Without these, I-I-," Samuel cut off mid-sentence and slammed his fist down against his glass, shattering it across the desktop. Leaning over and steadying himself on the desk while clutching his chest, he took several long breaths to calm his racing heart. Jack remained primed to rush to the man's side, fearing that he'd drop dead from his outburst, even as Samuel straightened and composed himself.

He managed to get his voice under control but his eyes still burned with the same fire when they returned to Jack's. "I fear, boy, that perhaps in your lifetime, the age of piracy will come to an end as we know it. What a bloody shame that'll be."

"I once was told _'No course is lost if but one fool is left to fight.' _Be there one brazen soul, following in suit of the Code, the age of piracy _will_ forge ahead relentless."

Jack stood and extended his hand, which was promptly closed within Samuel's thick fingers. They shook and perhaps for the first time in his life, Jack felt that 'Saint' Samuel Augustine viewed him as an equal and no longer as 'boy'.

"Much appreciative for the -" Jack started, but was cut off by an impatient wave of Samuel's left hand.

"There be only one way to thank me," Samuel said. Instead of releasing Jack from the handshake, his grip tightened and he drew Jack towards him.

Samuel's voice darkened, colored by malice. "Find the bastard... and kill 'im."

_

* * *

_

_Notes: _

_The Buccaneer's Heart was a magic medallion fabled to have held the spirits of the most famous pirates, including Edward Teach, Bartholomew Roberts, Henry Morgan, and Mary Read. The POTC short story says that anyone wearing the medallion could control these spirits. In my opinion, Teague would definitely have a place next to these legendary pirates and he would prefer to get next to the lone female in the group. _;)

_Thomas Tew, Henry Every, Christopher Condent, Olivier Le Vasseur, Edward England and John Taylor were all historical pirates who sailed the waters of Madagascar during the late 1600's into the early 1700's. England and Taylor were once partners until England was removed from captaincy and marooned after he showed mercy towards an English merchant ship. Taylor then partnered with_ _Le Vasseur and went on to become one of the most successful pirates of the area while England died a poor man._

_William Kidd was found guilty on charges of murder and piracy and was hanged at London's infamous Execution Dock on May 23, 1701. During his execution, the noose broke and Kidd was hanged successfully on the second attempt. Afterwards, his body was gibbeted- left to hang in an iron cage - over the Thames River for twenty years intended as a warning to deter any would-be pirates._

_The first and only English attempt at colonizing Madagascar was by the merchants William Courteen and Thomas Kynnaston in 1644 at the southwestern tip of the island in Saint Augustine's Bay. Drought and hostile natives forced them to abandon the colony. Many native tribes accepted pirates when they would ally with them against enemy tribes. It was not uncommon for pirates to marry into the tribe._

_The Channel that Samuel mentions is St. Mary's Channel that runs between Madagascar's western coast and the island of St. Mary's. The Isle of Perim is located at the southern base of the Red Sea._


	4. Chapter 3: Unfamiliar Bedfellows

**- Chapter 3: Unfamiliar Bedfellows -**

_"Moving on is a simple thing,__  
__what it leaves behind is hard.__  
__You know the sleeping feel no more pain__  
__and the living are scarred."_

- Megadeth, A Tout Le Monde** -**

-//-

"C'mon, Jonathan, hurry up!"

"_Jack._ For the last time, Timothy, call me Jack."

"Then yeh call me Petlock like the crew does! Now, hurry!"

Timothy Petlock was the bastard son of the _Misty Lady's _highest ranking carpenter and, like Jack, was a motherless whelp doing the best he could to make his own way by becoming a skilled and valuable member of the crew. With only a handful of years older than Jack, the two easily adopted each other as a brother and friend. Typically busy with their duties, the boys found only short moments to indulge in playtime. Their occasionally adolescent antics were a source of minor headaches for the crew. It was no coincidence that the boys' hands were kept occupied.

The two boys bounded along the companion way and below deck, weaving around working crewmembers to end their reckless descent in the darkest corner of the crew's sleeping quarters.

"Lookee'ere, Jonathan," Petlock said, throwing open the footlocker that Jack recognized as belonging to Bahr, the ship's Bosun, and shifting through its contents before lifting a bundle wrapped in burlap.

"We shouldn't be meddlin' in here," Jack whispered, then snapped, "_Timothy_."

Jack looked to what Petlock had removed from the burlap wrapping and his eyes went wide.

"He won it during the raid on that French ship a few weeks ago," Petlock said. "R'member that raid?"

Jack nodded, staring at the pistol, sharing the same awe and admiration as the older boy. The pistol was one of the more grand weapons either boy had ever seen; yet it was obvious that practicality didn't extend beyond ceremony. The trigger and hammer were fashioned in the likeness of a sea serpent and highly detailed scrolling was carved into the stock and along the barrel. It was without question that, if Bahr were to fence the item, he would surely see a hefty profit

Petlock continued. "He was the one who spotted the sails first, so he got to pick somethin' fer heself from the ship's holds," he held the weapon a little higher, "and this be what he picked."

Petlock elbowed Jack and asked, "Want to hold it?"

Jack lifted his arms to take the pistol, but his attention was grabbed by the sound of an eerie wind that whistled down through the narrow quarters and rustled the hammocks hanging from their pegs. The wind breathed upon his neck and Jack felt the fine hairs there stand on end. He turned hesitantly to look behind him. It may have been the dim lighting playing a trick on him, but swaying hammocks seemed to transform into dancing ghosts before his eyes. He knew that what he believed he was seeing was generated by his own puerile imagination, but he couldn't finger the source of a heavy dread nauseating him.

"Maybe we should be goin'," Jack said nervously while looking over his shoulder.

Petlock nodded and tossed the burlap over the pistol. "Be right behind ya."

--

It was hot and humid that afternoon. The idea of spending tedious hours securing lines under a relentless sun was not desirable to most his age, but Jack did without complaint knowing that as his skill increased, so did his standing with the crew. With a few more years of experience under his belt, he hoped to become an officer, one step closer to obtaining his own ship and becoming the best captain to ever sail the seven seas.

"Boy," came a growl from Jack's left. He turned to find Bahr, standing with his arms crossed, eyeing his work.

"Aye, sir?"

Bahr took a slow step forward making Jack feel cornered between the larger man and the gunwale.

"What say yeh 'bout the condition of this tack line?" Bahr asked in a low throaty rumble.  
Jack looked down at the line and then back to Bahr. "It appears proper to my eyes, sir."

Bahr grunted his disapproval before tearing the line from Jack's hand and re-tying it himself.  
"See how it be done?" Bahr said giving Jack a push.

"Aye, sir." Jack ran his hands down his shirtfront acting as if brushing off the contact made by Bahr's hands. The line had been tied off in the same manner as when Jack had done it himself. He was annoyed but did his best to stay respectful to the higher-ranking pirate.

Bahr gave him another push, harder than the first. "Yeh best start realizin' how things be 'board this ship," he snarled.

"I believe I've a fair handle on it, sir," Jack said, loosing patience and confused to why Bahr was being confrontational.

"Do yeh?" Bahr snapped. He pushed Jack again, but the younger had readied for the blow and was not moved.

Bahr's face turned red as he grabbed Jack by the shirtfront and roughly shoved him against the gunwale. "Yeh theivin' lil' rat! Return me pistol!"

"I never touched yer pistol!"

"Think 'cause ye be the cap'n's bastard ye can steal from me!"

Realizing the source of Bahr's anger and fearing that the man was about to run a blade through his middle did nothing to calm Jack's own temper. Incensed by the accusation and the insult of his mother's honor, Jack answered Bahr's question by bashing his forehead into the man's nose. The larger pirate, startled and in pain, stumbled back a step and dropped the boy before clutching his smarting nose. Jack scrambled to his feet, bracing himself as he fully expected to be pummeled senseless by the enraged Bahr, but the commotion had attracted the curiosity of the rest of the crew who had begun to gather around the arguing pair and sparing Jack of furthing beating.

"Stop!" the first mate shouted, grabbing Bahr's arm as he drew back to take a swing.

"Be there a problem on my ship?" Teague asked, irritation clearly evident in his words as he and Snodgrass, the ship's quartermaster, pushed their way through the crowd seeking the cause of the disturbance.

"Appears a fight 'tween these two, Captain sir," the first mate answered.

Bahr ripped his arm free and turned towards his captain. "Sir," he started, trying to keep his tone controlled despite his anger, "there be a thief 'board this ship..." He paused and pointed a menacing finger in Jack's direction. "And it be the boy!" he growled.

"Theft be a serious allegation to be makin', Master Bahr," Snodgrass said, stepping between Bahr and Jack.

"Aye, that it be," Teague said calmly, yet his gaze cast an imposing threat, aimed equally at both Bahr and Jack, for disrupting work on his ship.

Without changing his stare or tone, Teague addressed Snodgrass. "Gather three men neutral to the account. This matter shall be settled by the Code."

The minutes it took Snodgrass to round up a few slightly reluctant men to act as a jury gave Jack time to prepare himself. If he had to lend a guess at who had taken Bahr's property, it would have been Petlock. He had no proof and it would be his word against his friend's. He wasn't a rat and pointing a finger at another would set him as a coward in the opinion of the crew. He would tell the truth to the best of his ability without implicating Petlock and hope that it would be enough.

Per standard, being the accuser, the imposing bosun spoke first with telling of stumbling upon his hard-won pistol in the fold of Jack's hammock. Bahr than stood with his arms crossed as Jack told him he didn't take the weapon and was unsure on how it ended up amongst his belongings. Jack's voice never once cracked or alluded any speck of guilt. He felt confident that what amount of truth he presented would vindicate him.

When both sides finished stating their peace, Snodgrass turned to the tri-pirate jury.

"Be the boy innocent?" he asked flatly.

The three spoke quietly between themselves for a minute before turning to Teague and Snodgrass shaking their heads.

Jack felt himself grow cold and risked a fast glance at Timothy Petlock. The other boy's face exposed his guilt and was expressing the apology his voice and actions would not.

"Master Snodgrass, biding by the blessed ship's articles, what be the appropriate penalty for the offense of stealin' from another member of the crew?" his father addressed the quartermaster with a strained voice, his eyes never leaving his son standing before him.

The quartermaster looked down at the boy and said solemnly, "six lashes on the bare back... and maroonin'."

Jack bit his teeth into his bottom lip in an attempt to stop it from quivering as the magnitude of what had just happened began to sink in. He'd told the truth and it seemed the truth had failed him.

"You need to take responsibility for your actions, Jackie." His father's deep voice was stern, but from where he was standing, Jack could see the sympathetic look in the man's shadowed eyes.

Snodgrass unfurled the cat and addressed the frightened boy quiet enough that only he could hear. "The brave thing is to be a man and walk to yonder canon on ye own. Don' be dragged kickin' and screamin'."

Jack took an unsteady breath and without meeting any of the looks being cast his way, did as Snodgrass instructed.  
The first mate bound his hands across the canon's barrel. He then knelt and placed his hand on Jack's shoulder.

"Brace yeself, lad. This is gonna hurt."

-//-

Jack jolted upright having been shaken awake by the vivid nightmare. Short of breath and drenched in a cold sweat, he cradled his spinning head in his hands. It had been over a decade since he last thought of his first marooning and he had no doubt that he was only doing so now after the incident had been brought up during the meeting with Samuel Augustine.

When his breathing returned to normal, Jack fell back onto the pillow, his fingers massaging his damp forehead with hope to snuff the dream away in order to fall back asleep.

Restful sleep proved a difficult novelty to reach for Jack since his stay in the Locker when endless light of an endless day which was filled with endless nothing, made it impossible to distinguish any measure of time. Even after his retrieval from the Locker, it seemed his body never regained its sense of knowing when to sleep.

When he heard about his father's murder, sleep had become yet harder to attain. The only remedy he had to counter the predicament was rum. He had growing concerns that the remedy's long-term effects may be more harmful than beneficial as it took a higher quantity of drink to render himself numb to the world and the toils of his own restless mind.

With that notion being currently reinforced by the throbbing in his head, he found himself briefly remembering his second term as governor of Rum Runners Island when he spent an entire inebriated night singing and dancing around a bon fire with a certain vivacious young woman. It had been one of the last completely carefree moments of his adult life and was always one of his most cherished memories.

"And really bad eggs," he sang quietly and grinned to himself.

But the smile quickly faded as Jack lay awake, staring at the ceiling, and listening to the somber sounds of the twenty-eight gun galleon. It seemed that in the loneliness of night, the_ Misty Lady _was wishing she had gone down with her beloved, crying out with each agonizing creek of her timbers as she mourned the death of her previous captain.

Jack released a slow sigh as he lowered his eyelids. He rolled on to his right, then tossed to his left, and finally returned to his back with a flop. He laced his fingers behind his head and crossed his bare feet.

Several long minutes passed and he was still awake.

"Bugger."

He took a deep breath. It was stuffy in the cabin, the still air harboring the lingering scents of stale tobacco and cinnamon. True, he had to admit the scents were not completely unpleasant, he himself had smelled worse. He turned his head just enough to give a pit a sniff. Not so bad, actually.

He shook his head trying to quiet his overactive mind and concentrate on returning to sleep.

"Damn." He was awake still.

Submitting to the fact that he would not be able to fall asleep again any time soon, he climbed out of the bed with a frustrated groan, nearly tripping on the cluster of empty rum bottles that littered the floor, causing another groan that was louder than the first.

At the rear of the cabin, he threw open a window. The brisk Mid-Atlantic air was refreshing. The earliest rays of the sun were warming the eastern horizon and lighting the underbellies of rumbling storm clouds with deep hues of red. As Jack stood staring out the great windows, watching the rudder churning up foam through the mist of his breath in the salty night air, he couldn't help but think how he had already ran away from this ship once.

He had been born in this room and quite possibly conceived in the very bed he now slept in. That particular thought caused him to shudder and note that new linens were in immediate order.

His life had started on the _Misty Lady, _but she was not his ship, she was not his blessed _Black Pearl_.

_She was not freedom..._

Even though he had captained the ship for more than a year, he still felt she still belonged to her previous owner; even the crew of blackhearts seemed to hold true to that sentiment as they still met his command with leeriness. He didn't blame the crew for he held them in the same regard. They were allies seeking the same goal and would tolerate each other for the duration.

He had earned the _Black Pearl_ through his own blood and sweat. Jack knew every inch of line on the _Pearl. _She was as familiar to him as a woman's silken skin under a devoted lover's hand. As far the crew... well, a crew is a necessity but can be replaced on an 'as needed' basis.

_Mutinous maroonin' buggers..._

The _Black Pearl _had always been a touchy topic between he and his father, rooting back to when the ship was the _Wicked Wench_. Even after Jack had deserted the crew, Teague was proud that his son was blossoming into an independent and skillful sailor, but the idea that a Pirate Lord's son sailed under the flag of the East India Trading Company was a slap in his face. It mattered not if Jack had intentionally or unintentionally set out to affront his father, the consequential argument resulted in their estrangement that lasted for years.

It wasn't until a chance meeting after Jack's involuntary birth into piracy that the two spoke again, although not without tension. Jack had the _Wicked Wench _back and had christened her the _Black Pearl _after her new scorched exterior. He chose to be obscure on just how the now black-sheeted ship was again in his possession. Deals with Davy Jones tended to scare off potential crewmembers and business accomplices; therefore, he figured that inimical detail could simply be withheld, even from the esteemed Keeper of the Code.

_"A need to know matter,"_ he had said quietly to himself following a snort, _"and neither he or anyone else needs to know." _He'd had thirteen years to figure out how to negotiate his way out of the bargain. Plenty of time.

Jack turned and leaned against the sill, letting his back bathe in the spindrift. That was behind him now. Jones was gone and a man could not be indebted to the dead.

He huffed to himself as he scanned the cabin realizing he could not be so wrong. Here he was on the _Misty Lady_, the ship he'd turned his rudder to in his youth, and even though it wasn't Davy Jones, he was in fact indebted to a dead man, but at least this time it was, to some degree, by choice.

The first time he had stepped foot inside this cabin after inheriting the _Misty Lady's _captaincy, he'd hoped to find something valuable amongst its contents, preferably information. Of material items, other than a chest of Bermuease rubies, which by his own hands was now half empty, the cabin was cluttered with trinkets and junk that's value was only of sentiment by the evident packrat who previously inhabited the space. Even imperative nautical tools were appallingly worthless, including inaccurate tide tables, an astrolabe seized in its joints, and a traverse board barren of its pegs. Jack distinctly remembered cursing the preceding captain for such irresponsible recklessness upon seeing that the navigational maps were practically antiques. Even with being a skilled cartographer, it had taken Jack nearly a month of painstaking diligence to update them to his satisfaction. He never took notice that the penmanship of the old and new notations was comparably familiar.

Perhaps more puzzling, the last entries in the log books and journals had dated nearly eighteen months prior to Teague's death. Captain Edward Teague did not lack his own vices and faults, but when it came to matters of his ship, he was never negligent. None of these aberrancies added up and increased the mystery behind the man's murder.

Jack closed his eyes and took in a deep breath of sea air. It seemed to calm the throbbing in his head, but not the whirlwind of railing thoughts still pulsing through it. He craved stillness enough that even the concept of an overnighter in the _Locker_ sounded appealing.

On deck, the bell tolled and the crewman ending his night watch called, "All Clear!"

Morning had been officially announced. Jack grunted and opened his darkened lids.

He found himself caught in a familiar gaze from across the cabin. The painting of his late mother, mounted in an impressive mahogany frame was staring back at him with her dark eyes continuing their silent plea for him to gain resolution.

Jack dropped his eyes to his shuffling feet. In the beginning of his captaincy on the _Misty Lady_, he could only look at the painting with timorous sideways glances. His mother had been a strong, regal woman even in her last days as sickness drained her of life. He remembered sitting on the edge of her deathbed, holding her frail hand in his own, when she said her last words on this earth to him, "Son, I am so proud of you."

He took those words to heart and from that moment on had promised himself to never do something that would shame her. It was with great affliction that he removed the painting from its original placement on the largest wall of the cabin and set it gently on the floor leaning against the wall. He'd re-hang her portrait when her grieving stopped. When his own stopped.

The weight of her staring down at him with such tribulation was emotionally taxing. He could never bring it upon himself to turn the painting around; he was a respectful son and felt that the action would befoul her memory. Someone unknowing of their bond may see his actions as far from obeisant, Jack felt that she would understand and perhaps even approve. During some of his perennial restless nights, in the solitude of the main cabin, he'd swear it was her voice he heard in the darkness and not the creakings of the ship, as if she mourned her husband with an ethereal nocturne.

Other than the scores of invaluable advise, the most prized gift his father ever passed onto him was his mother's shrunken head. The head made wenches squeamish, or the more disturbing reaction, morbidly fascinated. Either option proved a benefit in his pursuits of wooing strumpets, of which he'd exercised with self-taught mastery. All of the venereal transactions ended in his satisfaction and without consequence except for one such green-eyed Bayou wench who had been so enthralled with the air of mystique that he had woven around the head, that she stole it and attempted to sell it at the local black market. It was by luck and luck alone that he found her before she completed the sale.

Once, Hector had snatched the head from his belt and run off with it in his mouth.  
"I shall keelhaul... then hang... then quarter that slimy, mangy, flea-bitten, maggotous cur_..." _Jack had fumed the dog's death sentence aloud fearing what he considered the worst possible indignation had fallen upon his beloved mother: chewed.

Jack knew where Hector would be, the crew's sleeping quarters curled up on his favorite blanket, and stormed up to the dog's location with his pistol primed and ready. Instead of what he had feared, he found Hector wrapped around the head like a mother dog around newly whelped pups. Jack reined in his rage and his pistol. Hector whined but didn't resist when he took the head back. The grieving dog had meant no harm. He had only taken it because the head still bore his old master's comforting scent.

Even though no damage had come to his mother's shrunken head, by woman or mongrel, Jack decided it would be best to find a more suitable place to hold her instead of his belt and reverently put her away in his personal foot locker. Safely out of sight, but never out of mind.

Figuring, that if he was going to be awake, he might as well do something useful. Leaving the window open, Jack pushed himself off the sill and paced purposely over to the table at the cabin's center. After lighting several candles, he sat in his customary seat and unfurled the Atlantic Ocean's chart. Using the ship's compass, he verified that the _Misty Lady's _current heading was correct, Southwest for Puerto Rico. With experienced reckoning, he determined that they were midway across.

With the _Misty Lady's _coordinates recorded in the logbook, Jack wondered where his _Pearl_ was. He removed the black, octagonal compass from his belt and flipped it open. The needle made only a single revolution before settling on direct west placing the ship near the vicinity of the Chesapeake that concurred with the last account sent to him by his informant. At least he and the _Pearl _would be in the same quadrant of the world when he returned to the Caribbean.

Jack swept his fingers across his tired brow, inadvertently catching up the small silver crucifix that was woven into a lock near his temple. He twisted the crucifix between his thumb and forefinger before gripping it in his palm.

A phantom ache tinged across his back triggering the dream to be suddenly freshened in his memory. Peculiar, he thought to himself, and far from the first time, how such an act alone would have been reason enough for some to wash their hands of the man altogether, yet abandoning this quarry was never present in his mind. Augustine's voiced impression of the situation, that Jack had to lower himself to hunt for Teague's killer, was inaccurate. It was his right as the man's son. Jack felt reinforced that Augustine's opinion of the matter and of him had changed when they parted.

All physical trace of the flogging was gone other than a few shallow depressions and even those had been covered up by the ink spanning his back. The punishment may have seemed a harsh to deliver to a smooth-faced lad but, in hindsight, his father was delivering a lesson on the rigors of pirate discipline along.

'Quite harsh, especially the marooning,' Jack's brow quirked at the thought. Fortunately for current pirates, marooning as punishment for theft was only used as a last resort for repeat offenders.

His father, the revered Keeper of the Code and eminent pirate captain, was foremost a teacher, even if many of his lessons were delivered indirectly. Of course that lesson would have been easier to swallow if he'd in fact been the guilty party. Nonetheless, it had made a lasting impression on him. After the ship came back for him, a long three days later, after Timothy Petlock's guilt drove him to confess, it was in the very next port that Jack left the _Misty Lady_ to seek his own adventures and not long after that, signed up with the East India Trading Company with aspirations of becoming a lawful and respectable sailor. If he'd known how that interlude would have played out in the end, Jack would not have been so disgruntled over the punishment handed down upon him on the pirate ship, realizing the hard way that the Company's trial-less sentencing proved immensely less principled. Simply put, when it came to the Company, it was all'just good business'.

Jack tightened his grip on the cross. The _Black Pearl _was out there. She was patient and so was he. With a flick of his wrist, the compass closed, effectively snapping him away from the black-hulled ship.  
With a sigh, Jack tossed the compass onto the table and reclined. Rolling his head on the chair's cool, wooden back, he looked over to his mother's portrait and gave her a nod.

"Good mor-" he stopped mid-word when a glint of light caught his attention from behind a quartet of African drums piled under the end of the table. It didn't move, meaning it wasn't a ship rat's eyes. He rocked sideways in his chair and slid the drums aside. The glint he had seen was the candlelight reflecting off the tuning keys of _his_ guitar.

Jack fell nostalgic. If he wished anything to have been buried with his father, it would have been this. If not in the Buccaneer's Heart, Teague's soul would have come to rest within the guitar's seasoned wood.

"Let us see what ye have to say."

He reached for the guitar and found his hand hesitating briefly before grasping it. He'd not touched the instrument since he had been a lad and that had been done under the supervision of the guitar's owner. Obviously, considering his current status, the owner would not be able to object at the present.

Jack carefully lifted the Spanish guitar sending flecks of dust into the air and tilted it from side to side trying to reacquaint with its foreign weight and shape before positioning it in his lap. Plucking random chords, Jack could feel the oils from the man's fingers still permeated into the strings. After a moment, a familiar tune found its way to Jack's fingers, one that he remembered hearing _him_ play when Jack was still a boy. He didn't play as well as Teague had, the notes not as fluid, but it didn't take more then a few frames for him to realized why his father played the guitar as much as he had. It seemed that the stick that was constantly stirring up mud in the ocean of his thoughts slowed and he could feel his mind calm.

Slouching further in the chair, he padded the strings tenderly, softening the song to a soothing tone. Hoping to escape into happy thoughts more suitable to correlate with the pleasant melody, he conjured up the image of a long-legged beauty, with her skirt hiked high about her thighs, wading through the curling tide on a palm covered beach. It wasn't until the woman kicked playfully at an incoming wave, exposing yet more of her thigh, did Jack realized he was picturing Laura Allister.

He flinched, startled.

Not that the sight of Laura baring her legs was unsightly, in fact it was quite erotic, but Jack knew that the Widow would not... _appreciate_ being thought of in this carnal manner, and his imagined woman on the beach dropped her skirt and stomped a prudish foot as the image faded and disappeared completely.

"Tease," he quipped smirking. Jack chuckled briefly to himself with a wince as he pondered on the possible things she'd do to him if he ever crossed _that_ line with her, and considering the look in her eyes from their meeting, he determined he'd not care for it.

He recognized that look. It was mirrored back to him from every reflective surface and found in the haunting eyes of his mother's painting. It was of hunger for substance that was not means of food. She wanted resolve for the death of her husband. If Jack so unscrupulously found it in him to judge her for wanting revenge he'd only prove himself a hypocrite. He was still concerned whether or not Laura will follow through with the mission he hired her for after she reaped whatever vengeance she found fitting on Leocadio.

Reap she shall, he was certain of that.

Another issue bothering Jack was that Johannes never mentioned Godenot in his letter to Samuel Augustine. Perhaps it was just a coincidence, as it had been well known through out the pirate realm that someone had been trailing the Codex and perhaps Johannes assumed his associate already knew. It was a subject he'd broach when he'd meet with Johannes back in the Caribbean, as there was no point dwelling in speculation.

Even Scraggly-beard had sent word regarding Godenot to Jack by way of Jocard. As appreciative as Jack was for his backing, he couldn't help but be put off when Barbossa didn't fail at poking his typical gibes by strategically signing his letters: 'Captain of the Black Pearl.' Underlined. Twice.

"Tis but temporary."

Oddly, Jack thought, that at the last Brethren Court Teague never mentioned a single word on Barbossa's betrayal or asked about Jack's death and time in hell. He paused in his playing for a moment.

No. It's not odd, he concluded with a twitch of his nose. No father would want to think about his child dying before him, let alone discuss the matter in detail. When it came to the mutiny, as the Keeper of the Code, Teague had to remain neutral in the swabble-some workings of intra-pirate relations, even those that included his own kin. Barbossa had followed the Code to the letter and left him to die in a gentlemanly fashion... if there was such a thing.

"Water under the bridge, mate..." Jack hissed, lowering the pitch of the song and playing at a faster tempo.

It was by long odds that Jack had made it off Rum Runners Island, twice, and come back from the Locker, but his father was long dead and buried. His soul was not sentenced to an eternity of withering in perdition. No accords could be reached with tentacled devils and there were no goddesses to barter him back into existence. Not even the most transcendental sea turtle could rescue Edward Teague from whatever resting place held him.

"Bloody worthless turtles," Jack sputtered as the note he played fell flat.

He'd been told once that passing on was dead certain. The probability of imperishable captains and life extending fountains were iffy at best in comparison to that statement. Only time would tell.

Jack didn't have time to dwell on it longer as he became aware of a stirring out on deck followed by a collection of muffled voices. A second later, there was a hurried knock at the door.

"Enter," Jack ordered stagnantly, not falling out of rhythm.

Denning, an ornery, lanky old salt and the _Misty Lady's _long-standing first mate, stepped inside.

"Captain sir, there be..." Denning's voice trailed off. For the first time in years, the cabin was filled with the old guitar's melodic voice. He cleared his throat and resumed,"...a merchant vessel spotted port. Low draft and few guns. Request orders, Captain sir?"

Jack's eyes and fingers never strayed from the fingerboard. "Ready all hands," he answered flatly.

"Aye, Captain sir." Denning ducked back out on deck and within moments a flurry of activity could be heard.  
The _Lady_ lurched starboard and Jack could hear the muffled commotion of the _Lady's_ crew preparing to board the merchant ship; excited vaporing, shuffling eager feet, the banging of hatchets on the gunwales, and the priming of flintlocks. His fingers began weaving an accompanying song to match their excited crescendo, fast and determined.

As the _Misty Lady_ fired her warning shot across the rival's bow, a string snapped and curled over the guitar's head. A mix of stubbornness and determination carried him forward and with a knitted brow, Jack continued to strum the song in defiance of the missing cord. He dug his fingers down harder along the frets, demanding each note to sing, and they screamed as if they'd been bitten. No matter how fervidly he strummed, without the broken string, the song sounded incomplete... like his father's life story. Still, it wasn't until a mist of red spittle sprayed from the guitar did he finally surrender and set the instrument gently onto his lap.

Puzzled, Jack held up his hand to find beads of blood on two of his fingertips. Shifting in the chair, Jack turned his hand to examine the small wounds better in the candle light, surprised that the strings had cut through his callused skin. The beads crowned and then two thin, red lines streamed down the fingers, joined midway across his palm, and ended at his cuff, staining the fabric.

Past the cabin doors, the targeted merchant vessel, apparently deciding not to be taken without a stand, returned fire and the _Misty Lady_ moaned in pain as the shot hit its mark. No stranger to the sound of canon fire, Jack barely flinched, but the force of the impact caused his mother's portrait to fall sideways with a clatter. In his blurred peripheral vision, just beyond his hand, she stared up at him from the floor.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, half amused and half angry. From where he sat, one branch of the blood trail pointed toward the painting of his mother, the other to his compass on the table like an emblematic fork in the road saying 'stay on course or run to freedom.'

_"It's not just about living forever, Jackie. The trick is, living with yourself, forever" _came his father's words.

This was another test and lesson conceived and set forth from the teacher in the spiritual realm. Both he'd never be able to thank him for.

Jack looked back to his mother's sideways face. He wouldn't run from this. It was a responsibility he could not forsake. Not for his father or himself. He'd see this through for her.

The battle on deck had just begun. The battle in his heart was far from over.

Standing and taking a few aggressive steps, Jack took the guitar by its neck in both hands and swung it into the wall until it was nothing but splinters and strings.


	5. Chapter 4: Father Seamus McNamara

**- Chapter 4: Father Seamus McNamara -**

_"Anchor the night, open the sky_

_Hide in the hours before sunrise_

_Pray for me not, I won't lose sight_

_Of where I belong and where you lie"_

- Audioslave, Heaven's Dead -

-//-

The general norm of pirates tends to be arrogant, self-indulgent, and living life with reckless abandon.

But not all pirates sail on ships.

This was clearly true when it came to the residing priest at the Quebradillas Mission in Puerto Rico. Father Seamus McNamara had been sent to the island when he was newly ordained. Being so far away from his diocese, Seamus went rogue and not only lived vicariously through the sins of his patrons, but eventually provided the means for their vices by going as far as to foster a brothel next to his mission.

At first glance, it would appear that Seamus's scruples were lax if not completely gone, but he was loyal to his patrons because of the meaningless anguish forced upon them by the East India Trading Company; his contempt culminated with the mass hangings of innocent women and children authorized by Lord Cutler Beckett. With the Company's growing financial success in the region, England was colonizing more Puerto Rican territory by the day, which brought more of the Company's corruption to the island, shrinking the freedoms of its inhabitants, including McNamara's.

In Seamus's mindset, it was necessary to suffer lesser sins if the end result could bring a stop to greater evils. He believed wholeheartedly that God would condone his working slightly outside the boundaries of written law if it helped his patrons, such as providing sanctuary to fugitives and arranging care for the widows and orphans of convicted pirates.

It wasn't all for charity. In order for Seamus to continue his operations, and continue in the comfort he'd grown accustom to, his help came at a price. If the person craving his services did not have money, then Seamus would accept information for payment, which he'd sell as he saw fit. This was how, within the brethren, Father Seamus McNamara became known as the 'Priest of Pirates.'

Even though Jack gave some respect to Father Seamus for his virtue, he didn't like the man in the slightest. They had a long history and Jack was short on forgiveness. He'd rather rip out his own gold teeth one by one then endure the Father, but the man was a hub of endless information and Jack hoped that the trade winds had blown in a wisp of material that could prove useful.

The _Misty Lady_ had docked at Quebradillas's wharf in the early afternoon and the crew had spent the first several hours there fencing the spoils acquired from the successful last raid for much needed supplies. As the sun sank beneath the horizon, a lively secession of men, with pockets full of coin, set out towards the brothel for a night of due recreation.

Unlike the crew, Jack was silent as he walked. His thoughts were not concentrated on the pert women of the brothel, but to the Priest in the adjacent mission. He broke away from the crew, chewing the inside of his cheek as he contemplated that visiting a priest instead of a strumpet was of the more absurd notions he'd ever set on himself.

Jack was reaching to pull open the door when he heard someone clear his throat. He turned and was surprised to see Denning and Snodgrass fidgeting behind him.

Jack raised a brow.

"Captain sir, would ya like our presence when ye meet wit' the devil dodger, sir?" Denning asked, his voice sounding as if the question was being forced out of him from gunpoint.

Jack couldn't stop the knowing smirk that broke across his face. A blind man could have seen that the two pirates were practically aglow with the anticipation of participating in all the jollity of shore leave. He credited their sense of camaraderie and duty to their captain, but he would not be the cause of delay to any man's duty to his parts below his belt.

"Go on with yerselves," Jack said, motioning towards the brothel with amused eyes.

The look of enthusiasm that the two elder pirates exchanged appeared to wash years off their weathered appearances and, without another word, they turned on their heels and headed to the brothel.

Jack watched them for an envious moment before entering the mission.

_--_

The mission's receiving room was a large open space with lanterns lining its perimeter. Beneath the somber light, Jack could see that the room was strewed with people of all origins but of similar state. Judging by the distress and wariness dulling their eyes, Jack figured these souls to be seeking refuge in the mission after being displaced by the spread of the Company.

As Jack scanned the room for McNamara, he found that he was under survey by a young boy who Jack guessed to be around the age of seven or eight. The boy approached timidly while he stared at the pirate with wide-eyed curiosity.

"'Ello, lad," Jack greeted.

Startled at being spoken to by the pirate, the youngster took a small step backwards. Jack smiled and dropped down to one knee, tucking his hat under his arm. "Do you like magic, lad?" he asked, keeping his voice genial so to not frighten the boy.

The boy came closer but remained at a cautious distance.

Jack pushed his sleeves back, waved his hands in front him, and then, with a flick of his wrist, pulled a coin from behind the boy's ear. The youngster's eye's lit up as he beamed, their sparkle equal to that of the coin reflecting in the lantern light.

Jack made a show of looking around and then said to the boy, "I wish to call upon Father McNamara. You can keep this here coin if ye'll fetch him for me."

The youngster, beaming even brighter, nodded and Jack slipped it into his hand.

The boy stared at the coin for a long moment before giving Jack an appreciative smile and tucking the treasure in his pocket. He spun around and darted through the room and disappeared around a corner into a hallway.

Jack stood and replaced his hat.

A moment later, the boy came back into the receiving room and pointed at Jack.

"Ah!" Seamus said with his arms out in an exaggerated greeting after he turned the corner. "The Prodigal Son has returned."

With that analogue being said, any form of returned friendly greeting died on Jack's lips.

"Launch your long boat? Extend your look-stick?" Seamus asked while draping an arm across Jack's shoulders and pointing to a buxom brunette walking near by, a woman Jack had visited before in the building next door.

Seamus felt Jack stiffen with irritation, but pressed on unconcerned. "What's the matter, Sparrow? Only flying at half mast?"

"Maybe later Father," Jack said impatiently after discreetly taking the brunette in from head to toe. "I'm in port to sate another need."

Seamus nodded, letting Jack know that he expected as much, then announced cheerfully, "I have rum in my study. Come with me."

--

Seamus sat himself behind an ornate desk in his study. The room would have seemed common for the study of an everyday priest if not for a woman's garter that had been randomly tossed into a corner.

The priest presented a bottle of rum, filled two chalices, and then got straight to the business at hand.

"Well, my son," he said while flexing his fingers together, "Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you."

"For everyone who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened." Jack replied sharply.

Seamus grinned at Jack's continuance of the verse he had started. Seamus may have strayed from following the words of the Bible, but could still recite them faithfully if needed. He also had no problem tweaking the verses if it was beneficiary to his wants.

"So, you are seeking the murderer of the great Captain Edward Teague. After veritas and aequitas?" Seamus started, obviously feeling that subtlety and tact were unnecessary. "Feel worth in this endeavor?"

"Vengeance belongs to me, I will recompense."

"Eye for an eye and screw the other cheek, ey? How very Old Testament of you," Seamus said, crossing his feet on the cluttered desk top. The priest turned an ecclesiastical eye on the pirate sitting across from him.

"Perhaps you should be looking inward and examining yourself. These conflicts and disputes among you, where do they come from? Do they not come from your cravings that are at war within you? For in much wisdom is much grief, and increase of knowledge is increase of you sure you are ready to know that of what you seek?_"_ His tone turned accusing. "If you could walk on water, I'm sure the ocean would bubble about your feet. I sense the fury of Hell itself burning deep within you. Acrimony in its purest form. Wrath _is_ one of the deadly sins, you know."

When the condescending lecture ended, Jack considered having '_assaulting_ a cleric of the Church of England' added to his extensive list of egregious offenses. His near overpowering want to slap that egotistical smirk off Seamus's face quite literally caused his palm to itch as if it was tingling with the anticipation of meeting a dear old friend.

"I didn't realize you still preach, _Father,_" Jack said caustically, even though he realized the validity of Seamus's observation.

"Shall the occasion arise I will indulge," he replied smugly.

"Sounds like a situation where the blind is leading the blind yet further astray."

"Like all sheep gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way. I twist no one's arm."Jack inclined his head showing he agreed with Seamus on that point. Pirates would continue to do as they wanted with or without outside influence. It was why many turned pirate.

Seamus swung his legs under the desk and set a hand on its top, palm up. "We both know that I know why you're here. So, for me to help you, you need to help me."

"There are entire sections of the Good Book that orate the evils of greed and bribery, if I'm not mistaken. Especially committing such in His holy house."

"I didn't take you as a religious scholar," Seamus mocked with slight admiration.

"Looks can be deceiving," Jack said pointedly, baring his teeth through a humorless smile. Seamus knew Jack was implying that he was unworthy of the cloth he wore, but simply shrugged with indifference and wiggled the fingers of his up-turned hand. "If it helps you sleep better at night, just think of it as a donation towards the bettered good of Puerto Rico."

Jack presented a purse of rubies. It only took Seamus a flick of his wrist for the purse to vanish from sight. An experienced street pickpocket would have been impressed.

"One hand for yourself and one for the King," Seamus said, grin still in place, reverting to a Naval oath instead of biblical text.

"You're a gem of the divine."

"I am a dissident to the common norm of my like." He responded clearly pleased with himself. Seamus slacked in his chair and folded his hands on the desk top. "What do you plan to do if you find whom you seek?"

"_When_ I find him," Jack corrected. "I know where he is going to be and I'm going to kill him."

"Your a cutthroat by title, but not by nature," Seamus said, his smug demeanor replaced by uncharacteristic seriousness. He grew quiet and regarded Jack thoughtfully as his forefinger rubbed his chin in concentration. "Live by the sword, die by the sword," he said his thoughts aloud after a moment.

"Some things are worth dying for."

"Some things... or some _people_?" Seamus asked, narrowing his eyes. "Is that where your acrimony stems?"

He stared at Jack waiting for a response When he didn't get one he continued. "If it be for anyone, may it be for Captain Edward Teague. He helped many in these settlements. One of the most honorable and good-hearted scoundrels to ever grace this earth. It's no wonder why your like named him Keeper of the Code." His smirk reappeared. "Criminals with laws, what a wonderfully logical contradiction."

Jack's head tilted to the side, seemingly by its own power, as he stared at the man across from him, amazed at how inane and hypocritical his last comment was considering that a priest, of all people, periodically delved into his own cookie jar of veniality.

As if reading Jack's thoughts, Seamus doubled his smirk but said matter-of-factly, "Our deeds determine us, as much as we determine our deeds."

Jack's nose twitched. It irritated him to no end when Seamus made sense.

Seamus's smirk vanished when he spoke of Teague again. "To my great regret, I never had the opportunity to deal with him directly."

"Ever had dealings with his either of his partners?"

"I never had the pleasure of meeting Captain Augustine in person. I always heard he was a good man."

"Johannes?"

"Once." Seamus answered in a way that gave Jack the impression he considered it one time too many.

"Of the people coming and going to this establishment of yers, have any mentioned a man with _particular_ interest in the Keeper and the Code with the name Adolfe Godenot?"

Seamus paled. "He was here some time ago inquiring about the same quandary as you are now, but more in the area of the Codex itself. Said he was a representative of an antiquities dealer named Virgil Baines."

"Virgil Baines?"

"No one I recognize." Seamus answered with sincerity, yet Jack sensed he was not telling the whole truth.

"Actually," Seamus continued after a pause, "I may not have remembered Mr. Godenot at all if not for the way he said 'antiquities.'"

Jack waved his hand for Seamus to clarify the statement.

Seamus's face twisted as he recalled the incident and tried to put it into words. "He said it... in a way... that it was an inside joke of sorts."

The priest's eyes sharpened as something fell into place in his mind. He leaned forward and said in a low voice, "I heard a rumor not so long ago that the Wizened Guardians of the Codex disappeared, along with the very book they were sworn to protect, shortly before your father's death -"

"How interesting," Jack said casually.

"- and that the Codex itself was in the hands of the East India Company."

"Not to my knowledge," Jack replied absently while biting at his dirty fingernails.

Seamus leaned in further. "What is in Mr. Godenot's possession?"

"Book."

Seamus quirked a brow. "He's your man?"

"No," Jack answered, spitting a nail onto the desk, nearly hitting the priest.

Seamus's second brow rose and wrinkled his forehead as he straightened his posture. His finger returned to rub his chin. Seamus was perceptive by nature and vocation and far from bellicose. Only what could be described as a brainless lack in judgment could be blamed when he leaned forward again and risked his next question.

"Did you lend a hand in Teague's mur-?"

Seamus didn't have a chance to finish the accusation as he found Jack's pistol an inch from his face. He wished he could have taken back the last words he had spoke, across from him sat a different man, dangerous and cold, with a darker soul.

He swallowed. "Decidedly not. Never hurts to ask," Seamus said with a light shaky cocked the pistol. "T'would only hurt for second," he growled softly. His finger yearned to squeeze the trigger begging Jack to forget assaulting the cleric and go for the full-out trailed an aporetic look down the barrel and back to Jack.

A callous smile slowly crossed Jack's face. "It may be old and weathered and only holding one shot... but it's dead accurate, mate. Trust in that."

"Point taken," Seamus croaked and cleared his throat.

"Now, _Father_," Jack hissed through gritted teeth, "There will be no more of yer assumptions and semantic forked-tongue missives. As far as you are concerned with the disappearance of the Wise Brothers Severine in relation to the Keeper's departure, they are solely coincidental, savvy? I want to know what you know and how it was you came about knowing it. If any of this is at all not clear, know that I'll render yeh a mute if yer mouth as much as mutters another slanderous imputation. And if yer ever in need for someone to take liability for yer compulsions again, inquire elsewhere."

"You always enjoyed flaunting the charge of my impersonation," Seamus chided weakly in attempt to lighten the moment.

"I was rewarded for me charity by havin' only the backs of prison bars as me company for a long month, the escape from which resulting in a nasty nick in me arm." As Jack's voice deepened with anger, his pistol remained perfectly still on its target.

The priest raised his hands slowly and placed them in clear view on the desk. He rounded his shoulders and retorted out of spite, "your charity was rewarded by increasing your theatrical reputation by the spread of your many whimsical exploits, such as the looting of Nassau without firing a single shot, for one example."

The two men glared at each other in bitter silence until Seamus relented and spoke, crestfallen.

"Times are desperate for the common folk in these parts with the rich getting richer, the poor poorer. Many have been affected by the imminent _progress_ of the Trade Company, even that boy out there." Seamus lifted a finger just enough to motion in the direction of the receiving room. "His father was a good provider for his family, but a pirate in the eyes of the Company." His voice faltered and pain colored his face. "They were going to hang the boy and his mother for consorting with the convicted man if they hadn't run away from everything thing they've ever known to hide here. The boy hasn't spoken a word since the day he saw his father's lifeless body swinging from a noose.

"As I said before, I never dealt directly with Captain Teague. He will be truly missed in these parts for he gave much to the community. Money. Protection. A touch of class," he added with a fleeting grin. "What bits of information and rumors I have acquired came among all manner of pirate that cross through my door. Of the serious inquiries, along with Mr. Godenot's, which supplied the most credible knowledge, included a foul tempered bloke and his lanky, one-eyed friend on behalf of Captain Barbossa-"

Seamus cut off suddenly, fluttering his hands in agitation, and sputtered, "It would be immensely easier for me to talk if your pistol was not before my face!" Seamus set his jaw and gave Jack a hard, but nervous, stare.

"Right," Jack started, glancing at weapon as if he'd just remembered it was there. "Pardon, Padre."He pulled the pistol back to his lap, keeping the mouth of the barrel visible at the edge of the desk, still aimed Seamus's way. "Please, do continue."

Seamus took a deep breath to summon what grit he had in reserve. "As I was saying, what has been mentioned regarding your father's death implied heavily that a wolf dwelt with the lamb.""He was murdered in New Shipwreck, of course it was by the hands of a fellow member of the brethren-"

Seamus interrupted before Jack could say more. "The accounts were more specific, claiming that the fault was committed by someone rather close to him." He raised both hands in an apologetic gesture. "Hence my poor-minded illation behind asking if you had any involvement."

Seamus watched silently, but with great interest, wondering if he'd revealed enough to satisfy the angry scallywag holding him at gun point, as Jack let what the priest had just said settle. There was no surprise that Barbossa would have done his own digging. Jack would have actually been shocked if the other captain had not done so knowing the man the way he did. As Seamus's submissions suggested that one of Teague's associates was responsible for his murder, Jack thought back to Samuel Augustine's hesitation about revealing his fears that Teague was involved with the Navy, and perhaps, even the Company itself. Yet, there no way the ever-loyal Saint Samuel would have betrayed Teague and it made no logical sense for Johannes to kill Teague on basis of the bountiful profit he acquired from their partnership. It didn't add up. There was another part of the puzzle he was missing.

Without moving its location, Jack uncocked his pistol. The priest slacked his shoulders."One more name has been brought up with others I have spoken with. It appears that this person had more interest in tracking the man behind the Book. Do you know of a Commodore Greitzer?" Jack carefully worded the question to not imply any connection between Teague and the commodore.

"The navy is involved?" Seamus flinched. He was quiet for a moment as he thought, then shook his head. "Unfortunately, I have no information on your Commodore Greitzer. I know of someone who may, perhaps," he said cryptically while scribbling on a scrap of paper he found amidst the contents on his desk. "Here is a name of a man I believe may be of some interest to you." Seamus hesitated before passing the paper across and didn't look up at Jack when he took from under his hand.

Jack recognized the name immediately and crumpled the scrap in his palm.

"Where?" He asked, returning his pistol inside the sash around his waist.

"Charleston," Seamus answered.

Jack nodded.

The men stood and shook hands ceremoniously, both eager to be rid of the other's presence. Keeping a distance between them, Seamus escorted Jack away from his office where the two chalices of rum were left untouched.

"How big, exactly, do you think this is?" Seamus asked with sincerity as he opened the front door for Jack.

Jack stepped outside and looked up to the sky. "There be only one who can answer that."Seamus nodded and pressed his palms together.

Jack made his way towards the docks, already plotting course for South Carolina in his head. He would have left the mission without as much as a look back if not for Seamus calling out to him."Be steadfast in your pursuit, Jack Sparrow. Nothing can harm us when God leads us." The Company oath stopped Jack in his tracks. He whirled around so abruptly he nearly tripped over his own boots.

From the look on his face, it was clear that there was more to Seamus's statement then what was apparent on the surface. The Priest of Pirates nodded and crossed his fingers before his chest.

"Peace be with you, Jack Sparrow," Father Seamus blessed and slammed the mission door shut.

* * *

Bible verses used in order of appearance:

Mathew 7:7-8

Hebrews 10:30

Matthew 5: 38

James 4:1

Ecclesiastes 1:18

Isaiah 53:6'

Our deeds determine us, as much as we determine our deeds.' From George Eliot's book, _Adam Bede._

PotC note: The Wizened Aids who we see carry the Codex into the Fourth Brethren Court were not given names in the trilogy and it is unknown if they are brothers.

Historical note:Quebradillas was known as "_La Guarida del Pirata_" or the "_Pirate's Hideout_" before becoming officially called Quebradillas in 1823 when founded by Don Felipe Ruiz. I am well aware that the date of the town's founding does not fit in with the timeframe of my story but, embracing that oldest and noblest of Disney Traditions, I am _tweaking _fact in order to spin a yarn. And, honestly, I doubt anyone would check this for historical accuracy anyway. It's all for fun after all!


	6. Chapter 5: Joshamee Gibbs

- Chapter 5: Joshamee Gibbs -

_"Who's got my back now?_

_When all we have left is deceptive"_

- Who's got my back, Creed -

The _Misty Lady_ dropped anchor in Rockfort's harbor at sundown. The sleepy fishing village itself wasn't an immediate danger to the pirate crew but its close proximity to the nearby fort at Kingston was potentially hazardous and they would be on their way under the cover of darkness before the sun rose in the morning. Under orders to keep their heads low and presence quiet, the crew entered the town eager for a hot meal, a cold drink, and affable conversation with the local folk.

Jack had a bigger reason to risk the stop for the night in Rockfort. Joshamee Gibbs had settled there after the Battle of the Maelstrom, retiring from piracy to become a fisherman. Even though Gibbs had been absent from the pirate world for a few years, Jack hoped his old first mate had not surrendered his buccaneer past completely and would be willing to lend a much-needed hand in his undertaking. He was a man Jack could count on when he needed him.

It didn't take more than to buy a round for the locals at the pub for Jack to learn where Gibbs lived. He had offered them Hector as a trade but, to his dismay, the folk were more interested in refilling their mugs than taking in the scraggly dog. Leaving the crew in Denning's and Snodgrass's diligent keep at the pub, Jack and Hector strolled down a quiet street until drawing up on the last house on the right.

It was a humble house. Smoke rose and curled gently from the stone chimney. A worn pair of fisherman's boots lay toppled beside the front door. The porch that spread across the entire front was furnished with two weathered chairs; the perfect place for a man to sit and entertain a guest with hours of old sea yarns. The perfect home for Gibbs.

Confident this was the home of Gibbs, Jack gave Hector a nod and bounded across the porch. He pounded loudly on the front door and grinned uncontrollably. When the latch began to turn, the excitement of seeing his old first mate and friend, the loyal and dependable Gibbs, doubled.

"Gibbs!" He exclaimed merrily as the door was pulled open, eager to greet the man with a firm hand shake and slap on the back.

"Yes?"

Instead, Jack was greeted on the porch by a young woman with a pleasant smile on her face. Jack's face and hand fell simultaneously as his brow furrowed with puzzlement.

"Gibbs?" He asked the woman, obviously confused.

"Yes," She repeated.

Jack backed off the porch wondering if he was at the wrong house. He looked up and down the street, turning in a full circle as he did, but could see no lamp lights beyond this residence. Unless the men at the pub gave him the wrong address, perhaps feeling insulted when Jack tried to pass Hector off on to them, this had to be Gibbs'. The town consisted of only one street. There was no way he could have followed the directions wrong. He turned a skeptical eye on the woman wondering if she was a bit touched. Even Hector cocked his head curiously at the woman as if wondering the same thing.

"Would you like to come in for dinner?" the woman offered warmly, motioning inside.

"Do you make habit of inviting strangers into your home and feeding them?"

"Of course not. You are no stranger to me." She said simply, again motioning inside.

"Do you know me?" He asked suspiciously while stepping back up on the porch.

She nodded, still smiling. "You're Captain Jack Sparrow."

Even more confused, he squinted and studied her face intently, trying to figure out how this woman could possibly know him when he had no recognition of her. "Have I threatened you before?"

A short giggle escaped from her lips. "No, sir."

His stomach tightened. "Tortuga?" he asked with a wince.

Her smile faltered briefly, as she became appalled, suddenly aware that his question insinuated she was a Tortugan strumpet, but returned quickly and become brighter than it was before. "No, sir. We have never _met_ before."

It was then that Jack heard a muffled but familiar chuckle from inside the house. He stepped sideways and looked past the woman to find Joshamee Gibbs holding a hand over his mouth in a failed attempt to cover up his rising amusement. Realizing he had been discovered, Gibbs and the woman broke down into full out open mouthed laughter.

Jack's confused and frustrated eyes twitched between Gibbs and the woman as he waited for one of them to give him some form of clarification.

"Jack, let me have the pleasure to introduce Estrella," Gibbs said, as he stepped out the door and wrapped his arm around her waist, "also known as _Mrs_. Gibbs."

"Pleased to meet you, Captain Sparrow!" She said, extending her hand and waiting for Jack to shake it.

Jack could not hide the stunned expression that swept over his face and stood dumbfounded for several seconds while he absorbed the news. He flashed Gibbs a genuine smile to congratulate him on both his marriage and his successfully played gag before sweeping up Estrella's fingers and kissing the back of her hand. "Pleasure is all mine, Madame Gibbs."

"Truly sorry, Cap'n, but couldn't resist meself. Saw ya comin' from down the street and put Essie 'ere up to it," Gibbs explained, still laughing as he spoke. He stepped forward and joined his former captain in a firm handshake.

"I must commend you on the impeccable set-up and execution," Jack said, referring to the gag with a crooked smirk.

Gibbs grew visibly uncomfortable. Even pleasantness in Estrella's smile had been replaced with sympathy. It took Jack a second to replay his last words he had spoken to realized the cause of their discomfort. _...set-up and execution._

"Condolences Jack," Gibbs said, having a hard time looking his former captain in the face as he did.

A long moment passed. Jack rocked forward on his heels and, in an attempt to lighten the moment, replied quietly, "I was waiting for you to tell me not to wallow in me grief."

Gibbs attempted to smile at the goodhearted joke, but could not. Hector whined at Jack's thigh as if telling his new master the joke was of poor taste.

"Dinner is getting cold. I would be honored if you would join us, Captain Sparrow," Estrella offered again.

"I would be delighted, Madam Gibbs."

-/-

They settled into telling stories that overflowed from dinner to drinks on the front porch: Jack and Gibbs with rum, Estrella a cup of warm tea. Jack and Gibbs enchanted Estrella with stories of their many adventures and, in turn, Estrella updated Jack on how she once worked in the governor's mansion in Port Royal for Elizabeth Turner's father and that it was Elizabeth who had introduced her to Gibbs.

"Should have sent the troublesome lass adrift when she crossed on the _Dauntless,_" Jack quipped harmlessly about the absent Elizabeth to Gibbs.

"I 'ave thought that afterwards, and if I known then just how much trouble she'd put us through, I definitely would'ave seriously considered doin' just that.""Oh, you two are horrible! There is no way that Elizabeth is as b-bad as you c-c-claim... " Estrella did her best to defend her friend and admonish the two pirates, but couldn't stop her own giggling. She knew full well from growing up alongside Elizabeth in Port Royal, that she was, in fact, a fair source of trouble.

"Well," Estrella said when her giggling passed. "I'm sure you gentlemen have some catchin' up to do and I will let ya be. Have dishes to tend to anyway." She pecked Gibbs on the cheek and retired into the house.

"Leave you alone for a mere while and ya run off and put yerself in danger," Jack promptly harassed Gibbs about being married as soon as Estrella was out of earshot.

Gibbs expected no less from Jack and responded quickly. "Seeing I didn't have _you_ putting me in the face of danger and almost certain death, I had to go out and find it on me own."

They shared a laugh and then a different air washed over the porch changing the atmosphere from companionable to strained as an uncomfortable silence settled.

"She must be half your age," Jack complemented after a moment, trying to lighten the awkwardness.

"What can I say," Gibbs said sweeping his arms outward, "the girl knows class when she sees it."

Another short laugh and they fell silent again.

"Sorry to have missed the wedding," Jack said, trying to sound nonchalant, but failing.

"I'll apologize right off for ye not gettin' an invitation, but it happened quite quick, she and I," Gibbs said honestly, knowing that his captain was put off about not being there even if he would not admit as much.

"And after Catherine, I knew best not to wait and miss the chance," Gibbs said after a moment. He rested in his chair with a contented smile on his face and arms crossed casually across his mid-section.

Jack never knew Catherine personally. She was part of Gibbs' life before they had met, back when his first mate was newly employed with the Navy. They were young sweethearts and Gibbs had decided to marry the girl when he had saved enough to afford to support her with a comfortable life. He set out with the Navy to earn the money but quickly realized that it would take a few years to save up any sizable sum from the meager wages. One tour turned into another, and then into yet another. After being gone for two years, he returned to marry Catherine. It was then that her father informed the young Gibbs that Catherine had died from fever during the previous winter. At a loss, Gibbs returned to the Navy a broken-hearted drunk and was soon after dishonorably discharged.

Reflecting on that now, Jack thought to himself that perhaps, just as with piracy, when it came to love, it was best to take what you could and to give nothing back. He could not fault his friend for marrying his new sweetheart before risking loosing her forever.

"You do seem different... erm..._ sober_?" Jack said ,with a smirk and a tilt of his head towards the house, implying that Estrella had done some good for his friend.

Gibbs' eyes twinkled with a silent chuckle and then turned dim. "Ye've changed too, Jack," he said quietly.

Jack had no doubt that his long time friend could sense his despondence, no matter what show of happiness he put on.

"It's confounding how the actions of others can so rapidly change your own perspectives." Jack sighed and stared out into the night. "Change. Progress. There's less in this world. Less freedom. Less great men. But not all this change is negative." He turned back to his friend and added pleasantly, "Jus' look at you, mate, happily married. One less bach'lor trolling the docks."

Gibbs smiled lightly. "There is somethin' to be said about having someone to grow old with and not fearing dyin' alone."

"There's only sure one way to parry the fear of dying alone and that, my friend, is to never die at all."

"Still chasin' the _Pearl_ and the Fountain of Youth?" Gibbs asked, without any amount of surprise in his tone.

"Aye. She's currently anchored near the Chesapeake," Jack answered, motioning northward with his glass. "Barbossa's been occupied with chasin' old Fountain tales. Going as far as to trade with the local Indians of the region for what knowledge they have. As it be that he is without the Navigational Charts, all that he is searching for is rumor and hearsay. But don't fret for him. He's made it profitable by taking a Company ship here and there."

Gibbs had been nodding to himself as Jack talked, taking in all the facts, and realized that some of the things Jack knew could only be if he was on the Pearl or had a someone on the inside. "Compass tellin' ya where the _Pearl_ is, no doubt, but how ya getting the rest of yer information?"

"Lil' bird tells me," Jack answered cryptically.

"Ah, Cotton. Good man."

"Most importantly, the only man I'm certain won't talk if ever caught."

Gibbs chuckled, "there be that, too."

"Cotton's been very useful in keeping me informed, but there is one thing that he's not brought to light."

Gibbs raised a brow in question.

"As Barbossa cruises the oceans in _my_ ship, he has also been looking into the matter of the Keeper's murder."

"Not surprisin'. He may feel obligated bein' a fellow Lord."

"Aye. It's the same for the other Lords as well. Be it a feeling of obligation or just mad as hell, they all want the same end; to find the bastard who killed the Keeper. They can want it all they want, but it is my obligation to pursue and carry out." Jack said, his determined voice heavy with burden.

Jack shifted in his chair and brought the focus back on to Barbossa. "He is expecting something big. In fact, he's preparing for it. He added six more guns to the _Pearl_. I need to know what it is he knows that I don't know."

Gibbs could hear the derision in Jack's words. "Barbossa deserves yer respect. He's earned it many times over... in his own way."

Jack flinched. "If you've forgotten, he left me on an island to die."

"You shot him. _Then_ he pulled yer arse back from the Locker. Like I said, it be by his own way. I'm saying a man who works the Code as Barbossa would be a handy ally in this venture. Don't underestimate him."

Jack thought it over and agreed, but with a sneer. He couldn't bring himself to praise Barbossa's help out loud, no matter how much he appreciated it. Just thinking of doing that gave him a dirty feeling.

"Suppose I should take all the help I can get," he muttered under his breath, and then gave Gibbs a meaningful look.

Gibbs heaved a heavy breath as he held his head in his hands. "You didn't come to Rockfort to talk of the _Pearl." _He turned his head to face Jack. "I'd be the first to say it was an injustice. A right coward be a man who'd stoop to shoot another in his back. By the devils own hand, may he piss fire every time he squats to take a leak." Gibbs hands fell limp in his lap. "As soon as I saw yeh walkin' down the street, I knew why ye be here, Jack. I am figurin' you expect something from me that may be more than I can offer." He paused and glanced back into his house, "things have changed since the Maelstrom."

"Happened years ago, yet some days it feels like just yesterday that the Brethen'd gathered for the Fourth Court, Calypso was freed, Young Master Turner became the successor of the deceased Davey Jones, the Armada turned tail and retreated from the pirate fleet..." Jack brought his mug to the edge of his lips, "and Barbossa stole the Pearl... again," he slipped in virulently before taking a long, slow drink.

When he lowered his glass, he found Gibbs slinked down in his chair and looking sheepish.

"But you're right," Jack continued pensively, running his fingers across his brow, "a lot has changed since then."

"Yer not just talking about us and Essie, are ya?" Gibbs asked, already knowing Jack was referring to Teague.

Jack's face twitched and he set his empty mug down on the porch floor. "You're the most trustworthy first mate I ever had," he said seriously.

"History would say I be the _only_ trustworthy first mate ye ever had."

Jack's lip curled to a half smirk. "True."

His smirk remained but he continued with a serious tone. "Someone believing, accepting, and acknowledging that something is truth, does not necessarily make that someone trustworthy. By actions, a man proves himself. Your actions never strayed from loyal or steadfast."

"Alright, Jack, since yeh've laid it on so thick, tell me what y'know so far. Mind you, no promises." Gibbs said, conceding to at the least hear the plan as he pulled out the familiar, worn flask from his pocket.

With comforting nostalgia, Jack watched his first mate take a quick drink from the flask. He met Gibbs' eyes and stated his goal with all the certainty of a long proven fact. "One of our brother pirates went to New Shipwreck and shot the Keeper in the back. I going to find him and kill him and anyone else who was involved." The coldness in Jack's tone sent a chill up Gibbs' spine."Just how do you plan to weed out the killers?" He asked.

"By using the code," Jack answered, as if it was the most logical thing in the world.

Gibbs blinked, confused.

"An alarming amount of questions were being asked about the whereabouts of the Codex when the murder happened and I'd wager the _Black Pearl_ that two are connected. So, I'm giving the ones who were doing the asking an answer of just where it's going to be saying, 'If ye want it, come and get it... and get what's coming to you.'"

Gibbs' eyes went wide. "The Codex is not to leave Shipwreck! If it ever fell into lawful hands, it could implicate a lot of men out there."

"Implicate present _and_ past pirates," Jack said with somber eyes and hard concern set on Gibbs' face.

He'd not seen the big picture until Jack laid it before him. There were names in the Codex, not of every man who had ever pledged the pirate oath, but of any who had contributed to the writings inside; such as members of the Brethren court, many of the Pirate Lords, captains, and other influential pirates. With the proper amount of digging and stretching of the facts, the Law could use the Codex to convict not only those men but also all those found to be associated with them. Jack's main objective may have been to find the Keeper's murderer, but if he was successful, Jack would not only avenge his father, he'd also keep safe the identities of all the men who ever sailed under the black flag. Gibbs threw his head back and emptied the flask down his throat.

Knowing Gibbs' distress, Jack set a strong hand on his shoulder and said firmly, "Don't worry. The Codex is safe. To take it from the man who holds it would consist of prying it from his cold, dead fingers. He is most reliable, trust me."

Not convinced, Gibbs cut into his former captain. "It's still takin' a big risk. Considerin' what be at stake, it be reckless to use the Codex as you are."

Jack raised a defensive hand. "We know what lengths they were willing to go to get the Codex," he said, referring to the murder of Teague, "Men who are willing to take such a risk are desperate. Desperation typically coincides with urgency. Urgency with recklessness. Playing upon their recklessness and urgency, I am dangling the Codex like carrot from a string, waiting for their desperation to draw them into the open... where I will be waiting."

Gibbs listened intently to Jack's plot but couldn't help but wonder how his former Captain remained so calm and confident that the Codex would remain safe if so many were after it.

"It's ironic..." Gibbs, thinking aloud, began.

"How the piece of literature which we pirates base the continuance of our way of life on could be life threatening," Jack finished for him.

Gibbs nodded and said solemnly, "Teague already died fer it."

Hector whimpered at the mention of his old master's name. Jack called the dog to him with a pat on his knee and comforted him with a scratch behind the ear.

"He'd find it funny, you know," Jack said, as much to Hector as to Gibbs.

"_Funny?" _Gibbs scoffed, rocking forward his chair. "He'd find it funny we could all be hanged over a blasted book!"

"He had a twisted sense about him. Ye do remember that this be the same man who wrote in his own articles that 'the ship's dog is to be treated as an able member of the crew..."

"... And anyone found treating him like a dog shall face the wrath of the captain," Gibbs finished; a smirk crossed his face when Hector's tail thumped against the porch floor. He'd heard of Teague's amendment, but considered it a pirate's inside joke.

"And God have mercy on their soul," Jack concluded flatly, causing Gibbs to come undone and laugh.

"Wot?" Jack asked with exaggerated surprise. "He had it added to the Codex."

Gibbs laughed louder and had to look away from his former captain as tears formed in his eyes.

Jack placed a hand over his heart and said as seriously as he could considering the absurdity of the moment, "Mate, I assure you, it's there. Saw him add it with me own eyes."

Gibbs laughter began to recede as he stared at Jack, still trying to determine if it was true. "Fond memories of a fine man."

"Augustine thought so. Spoke highly of the man for our whole meeting," Jack said, grinning as he remembered Samuel's tale of the card game that ended with him in debt with Teague.

"Augustine's a decent enough fellow," Gibbs commented evenly, then snorted, "the other partner, Johannes, never fails to be a bloody prick."

"_Prick's_ a bit harsh, don't ya think?"

"Sailed with him once when I was still a green horned sea-pup and have run into the miserable blighter a few times afterwards. Slow to pay due shares but quick with the Cat's tail. Seen him leave lashes on a man that resembled the laces on a lady's corset. To sum it up, he be the type that would kick a puppy for the jollies he'd get from it. So, no. _Bloody prick _be quite accurate."

"_Bloody prick_ as he is, I hope I can impede upon you to mask that attitude long enough to speak to him in my stead?"

There it was, the request for help. The color drained from Gibbs' face.

Jack saw Gibbs' tense response. Despite his conscience imploring him not to press the issue, he continued.

"There's a man I need to see in the Colonies, South Carolina actually, which sends me farther north than I intended."

"South Carolina?"

"Charleston," Jack clarified. "Information received from Saint Samuel and Father Seamus McNamara lends me suspicion that the Navy may have had some immediate involvement. The good Father has directed me to a Trade delegate who can provide more information on the commanding officer who -"

"What would McNamara be doin' with the Company?" Gibbs interrupted. He was surprised to hear the priest had a contact within the Company when he knew of the detest he harbored for the organization.

"That he was reluctant to share."

"He be robbin' Peter to feed Paul?"

"Perhaps," Jack shrugged. "I'll find that out in Charleston, along with the location of this Commodore Greitzer."

Gibbs' eyes narrowed in concentration.

"Know the name?" Jack asked.

"Can't be certain. There's been such an increase of naval presence in these waters, it's hard to keep track of 'em all," Gibbs grumbled, scratching his chin as he thought.

"A Virgil Baines, perchance?"

"Two-bit smuggler," Gibbs mumbled distractedly as he still pondered the name of the Commodore and the extent of naval involvement.

Jack ran his tongue over his lips. "Mate, I'm running out of time," he began, trying not to sound pleading. "I've arranged for someone to tarry movement of the Codex in the event I was to become delayed, it won't be enough if I sail on to Charleston, to St. John, and then to meet a rendezvous in New Shipwreck before intercepting the Codex in Montserrat. I need to learn more of this commodore and I need to speak with Johannes at his plantation in St. John. I cannot do both. I wish not to impose upon you to leave your new life... your new wife, to uproot from it all and chance this, but I am short on options. Antigua be a shorter and safer trip for you to make than the occupied Charleston harbor."

Jack stared down at his fidgeting hands, unable to look at Gibbs. "I wouldn't be askin, if..." he said so quietly, Gibbs barely heard it.

Gibbs' stomach rolled with confliction. He wanted to help Jack, but he couldn't bear to leave Estrella now. He had to make a difficult choice. "I-I don't know, Jack. I fear that ye may be askin' for more than I can give," Gibbs said with a choked voice.

"There be nothing that would ever come between you and me," Jack said flatly, looking at his first mate with honesty in his eyes as he began to come to the conclusion that Gibbs was unable to help him. It must have been apparent to Gibbs as a guilty and apologetic look settled firmly on his face.

Jack stood and took the few steps forward to lean against a porch post. "Josh," he began quietly, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor boards. "I won't have ya set out on a path of danger. It be of me own impulsive foolishness. Recklessness. I know you have more than yerself to consider now."

"It's not foolishness!"

Estrella's voice from the doorway startled both men. Jack nearly stumbled off the edge of the porch and Gibbs jumped to his feet.

"Lives depend on this. Our lives. I won't have you gone from our future because of your past."

Estrella came to stand directly in front of her husband and placed her hands against his cheeks tenderly. "Besides, you were going the moment he got here," she said with a soft smile.

Gibbs set his hands on her waist. "But, Essie-"

She put a finger to his lips. "Go. On one condition," Estrella said, and looked beyond her husband to Jack. "You promise he will come home to me breathing."

He gave her his word. "I promise, on the pain of death, to return him alive."


	7. Chapter 6: Lieutenant Gillette

- Chapter 6: Lieutenant Gillette -

"_There's a man going around taking names_

_And he decides who to free and who to blame_

_Everybody won't be treated the same"_

_- Johnny Cash, The Man Comes Around -_

-/-

Gillette felt trapped and anxious. There was another place he needed to be and during the last several hours spent suffering through endless meetings caused that need to border on excruciation. His knotted stomach made it nearly impossible to focus. It seemed that all concentration was sapped from him, making even the day's most routine duties unusually tedious and difficult. Including listening to the woes of the man currently sitting across the desk from him, Mr. Lohmiller, a merchant who imported molasses from the French West Indies to the Colonies.

Gillette saw Lohmiller as a lower class dullard with the same pitiful whines over the tariffs to make port and trade the wares they carried from non-British occupancies. Just as the rest of the nonaligned merchants that came to him with such gripes, Lohmiller was claiming that the Company was growing too large, overreaching their influences, and monopolizing trade in the Colonies and territories of the New World.

The censure of Company policy was not uncommon and was becoming an increasing occurrence among Lohmiller's like. Gillette would not be faulted if small, independent merchants could not compete with the East India Company. If they wanted to make a profit with less strife, they should sign allegiance with the Company.

They could quibble monopoly all they wanted. In the end, it was all just good business.

It was this fact that he'd relayed to Lohmiller several times before and was finding himself reiterating again. Gillette found having to repeat himself over and over annoyingly tiresome, but it was still his job to hear and to make reports on complaints from the colonies regarding imperial administration. So Gillette tried to give the man what he believed to be an adequate level of his professional patience and attention, which was little, since it took nearly all of his concentration not to squirm in his chair and fidget like a youngster during church.

Lohmiller, who'd been growing steadily more exasperated, realized he was getting nowhere with the policy-strict, and obviously distracted, official. He stood abruptly and drove his fist into Gillette's desk, the action failing to elicit the slightest flinch from Gillette.

His eyes never rising from his desk top, Gillette pulled a fresh sheet of paper from his desk and started writing a report while dryly alerting Lohmiller that his grievances would be documented.

If Gillette had glanced up at that moment, he'd have noticed Lohmiller's cheeks coloring to an angry shade of purple. Too frustrated to speak coherently, the merchant left in a flourish of unintelligible cursing, slamming the door behind him.

"Oh, thank heavens," Gillette gasped, fumbling through his vest pocket to retrieve his gold pocket watch.

He checked the time and moaned. He had yet twenty minutes until the end of his working day.

Still staring at the timepiece, Gillette anxiously drummed his fingers on his desk and debated if he could stand the remaining minutes. Although his position was acquired by royal appointment, he did not view it acceptable to leave early, even if many of the other officials did when they pleased, but the situation in his stomach was worsening. Lohmiller had been his final scheduled meeting and the office was closed tomorrow. If there had ever been a time that an exception could be made, this was it.

Under normal circumstances, Gillette would have painstakingly filed each document away in its proper place, secured his daily ledger in his desk, and enjoyed a quiet glass of sherry before heading home for the evening. On this night, he gathered up the neatly stacked papers on his desk, including Lohmiller's uncompleted grievance, stuffed them inside the cover of his ledger, and crammed the overflowing book in the top drawer.

He threw himself into his coat and failed to bother with the fine buttons. He plopped his hat down over his wig and doused the lamps. The office was dark. Now all he had to do was slip out before someone unannounced came and caught him trying to leave early.

He eased the door far enough open to crane his head around it. He peeked left, then right, and seeing only a handful of ordinary merchants and sailors, decided to risk the early departure. With haste, he stepped out, jerked the door closed, locked it, and dropped his key into his pocket. Head down, he spun sharply to walk down the street running squarely into another man.

"Pardon me," Gillette growled without even a glance at the man he'd just collided with and hurried off.

"Oi! Sir, a moment of yer time, if you would." The man had called after him.

Gillette continued to ignore him, but after a few steps more found himself sniffing. His fine new coat had been fouled with the smells of dampness and rotting fish, no doubt a result of having contact with the man outside of his office who must have been a fisherman. Angry that the garment may have been ruined, he stopped in his tracks and turned, determined to berate the fisherman for being so rude and clumsy.

"You imbecile!" He fumed. "Don't you know this cost more than you make in a mon..."

Gillette's rant trailed off when he found no one standing anywhere near his office door. For reasons unclear to him, he was startled that the fisherman had gone so fast, as if disappearing from plain sight, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He stood rigid for a few more seconds, looking and waiting, wondering if the fisherman would return. Then, shaking away the eerie sensation, Gillette cleared his throat and figured it was just as well that the fisherman went on his way as the fierce cramping in his abdomen returned with a growl. He made a face and sniffed his coat once more before turning on his heel and proceeding on his way.

It was only a few short blocks from his office to common courtyard behind his comfortable home, which was shared with his neighbors, but this evening, it felt as if miles had suddenly been added between the two points. He found it with great difficulty not sway in his stride and averted his face from those he met on the way so that they'd not see his increasing discomfort. He could not risk someone stopping him to ask what was causing his face to twist and to sweat so profusely.

When he entered the courtyard and saw it empty, Gillette broke into a jerky and awkward run towards his destination. He didn't think he could possibly wait any longer; the urge was becoming too strong, to the degree that he was tugging at his belt before crossing the threshold. He slammed the door closed and latched it and let his trousers drop to his ankles even as he spun about.

Finally, relief.

Gillette had never needed an outhouse so urgently before. He heaved a long, gratifying sigh claiming a small victory over the sickness that had been plaguing his stomach for the past week. It had taken three years to build his current social standing and he refused to lose it all by humiliating himself before the superficial and unforgetting eyes of the Charlotte elite, to whom image was everything.

He snorted, thinking, 'the public eye, bah, such a fickle thing. People are always different behind closed doors, where they are authentic and true, yet that isn't the persona by which one is judged.'

He groaned when another wave of sickness left his body, then sighed with contentment. Even if this wasn't his idea of a pleasant start to his evening, Gillette did enjoy the peace and solitude he found inside the outhouse walls. He plunked an elbow on his knee and rested his chin in his palm, puffing his cheeks with air, and began to wonder what his wife had the cook prepare for dinner when a loud knock came at the door.

"One moment," he answered dully, subdued in his response as more knots released in his stomach.

Two knocks.

Three knocks.

Gillette huffed, growing quite annoyed. "One. Moment. Please."

His tormentor resumed his knocks, this time in an upbeat rendition of _Rule Britannia, _circling the outhouse as he did. Anger flushed Gillette's face. He tracked the tormentor's body as it blocked out the slivers of dim light that filtered through the thin spaces between the outhouse's wooden slat facade.

He gritted his teeth and addressed the tormentor irritably. "If you could be so kind as to adopt the common decency to use proper patience and wait your turn to-"

Gillette would have continued his tirade, but was silenced when the figure suddenly stopped and deliberately cocked a pistol just beyond the door.

Jack heard frantic shuffling of feet and trousers from inside the outhouse.

He rapped the door with the butt of his flintlock. "Relax, relax. Jus' ...take a load off."

The shuffling stopped as Gillette stiffened in his seat and presented his hands before his chest in surrender. Feeling foolish, he let his hands slap against his bare thighs knowing the other man outside could not see them.

"Splendid evenin', don't you agree, Andrew Gillette?" Jack spoke the usually pleasant greeting sourly.

Gillette's eyes went wide at the mention of his name by the mysterious tormentor. "Yes, splendid," he answered with a quiver.

"T'would be a splendid evenin' buoyant. I must admit to being slightly puzzled at why I've come to find such an errant, career-minded and underhandedly ambitious Naval man land-locked."

"I've not been with the Navy since surviving the hurricane whilst under the command of Commodore Norrington."

"The low wages and high death rate didn't make it worthwhile?"

"I am a Trade Official now, working under Governor James Glen, appointed by the Board of Trade and our blessed England," Gillette retorted stiffly.

"Trade Official, ay? Which means what, exactly? No real authority yet a favorable seat at all the great parties."

Defensive, Gillette responded, "I am responsible for overseeing taxation and collection of levies of all trade and commerce imported into Charleston Port."

"Yer a very _popular_ man then," Jack spat sarcastically. He didn't think it was possible, but he suddenly cared for Gillette a great deal less. It was widely acknowledged and scorned rumor that many of the overseas appointed officials accepted bribes and inflated taxes of the people they represented to pad their own pockets.

"Who is speaking?" Gillette demanded.

"Don't r'member me voice, do you? Pity. 'Never forgot yours," Jack said, feigning hurt. His tone then lowered and he continued venomously, "I also never forgot that is was you who held the first torch to me _Wench_."

"I-I-I never burned a woman," Gillette stuttered, appalled and disgusted by the tormentor's implication.

Jack's voice velvetted to a deep rumble as he stopped pacing and spoke very directly through the door's wooden slats. "Not _woman _wench. _Ship _wench."

No sound came from the outhouse.

Jack straightened and rolled his eyes, realizing that the man inside was not catching on. "The _Wicked __Wench__,_" he clarified flatly, beginning to circle the outhouse's perimeter again.

Jack couldn't help but smirk to himself and only barely resisted the impulse to rub his hands together in delight. It was utterly satisfying to have caught Gillette with his pants down, and quite literally at that. He had to steel himself against the urge to empty his pistol into the outhouse and fatally pockmark the man inside, his former first mate, who was responsible for reporting his decision to free the slaves aboard the _Wench _back to Cutler Beckett. The betrayal that forever branded him a pirate.

After a pause, Gillette finally peeped, "Mr. Sparrow?"

"_Captain_. Captain Sparrow," Jack said indignantly, thumping the outhouse soundly with his fist.

Gillette jumped in his seat with a sharp gasp; his shaking arms reflexively up-stretched high over his head in surrender. He too remembered that day, and more specifically, he remembered the haunting, quiescent anger that burned in his former captain's eyes when he was shackled by his own crew and lead away for persecution. It had bewildered Gillette how a man demonstrating such promise would throw away his career by doing something so idiotic as to release an entire hold of Company owned cargo without order or sensible reason. It was his obligation and duty to report his wayward captain to their superiors. In his opinion, sole culpability for the burning of the _Wicked Wench _lay wholly with Jack's malfeasance.

More than a decade had passed before their paths crossed again aboard the _Dauntless _in Port Royal Harbor. At first, Gillette had not recognized the long-maned man aiming a pistol at his face, until he'd cast that same haunting glare upon him. Why the pirate didn't shoot him where he stood, trembling and frightened, much like he was now, Gillette could never fathom. Recalling those past events now and imagining the pirate currently wearing the same looming glare, caused Gillette to examine his current predicament. He was unarmed, without reinforcements or escape, and, most distressing, completely at the pirate's mercy. Gillette swallowed hard, loud enough that Jack could hear it, and his stomach cramped with fear instead of sickness. Apparently, even his bowels were afraid as they clamped tighter than a lock on a chastity belt.

Jack boasted a self-assured grin as he spoke that was clearly evident to Gillette through his confident tone. "Now that we have been reacquainted and since you are just sittin' there, pay attention. I suggest that you listen to and concur with a little proposition of mine. Tell me what I want to know and I'll leave," he paused and then, for nothing more than effect and his own amusement, added with very deliberate hostility, "you unharmed."

"Alright," Gillette croaked in a small, defeated voice, wrapping his arms around himself.

"I was directed to your door by one spirited individual who believes you can lend me information on a commissioned second man, who appears to have been possibly involved with a departed third, who had an unfortunate fatal run in with a unknown fourth party.

"And also, I believe what you may have to say might eliminate or confirm the possibility of the second and fourth man being one in the same for that is certainly not out of the question."

Jack paused to let Gillette catch up. It may not have been more than the feelings of resentment and bitterness reeling their heads, but Jack couldn't help but think that if it weren't for the Gillette being so obnoxious, he'd have no personality at all.

"Even with all that being put forth, my insistent curiosity begs the question: Why would you be in his acquaintance, when a typical man of your political station would consider affiliation with a liberal, degenerate, smugglin' priest a compromising fallacy?"

After hearing that description, Gillette knew in an instant that Jack was referring to Father Seamus McNamara. "That is none of your business!" he snapped in a high-pitched squawk.

"Why would said priest, who so commonly barters his loyalties for personal gain ... heh, much like yerself, actually... see fit to keep buttoned up over this particular association? What aid do you provide each other?"

Gillette chewed anxiously on his bottom lip as, unseen to him, Jack impatiently waved his hand silently imploring him to continue.

"I not dare say," Gillette said, nervously drumming his fingers on his bare knees.

"Oh, but do dare. For daring not will provoke the daring of a certain deleterious nature on my part to find other means of..._acquiring_... the information from you."

Inside the outhouse, Gillette clenched his jaw and raised his chin in unseen defiance.

"Come now, Lieutenant," Jack cajoled at Gillette's lack of response. "Yeh've never hesitated to promote your own station by condemning another. Consider this a _life altering _decision." Jack rapped the flintlock against the outhouse door once again to emphasize the point to Gillette that he was trapped.

The sound of metal on wood loosened Gillette's tongue even if his attitude remained taciturn. "The Father and I... well, you see we, ah," he began in a strangled voice, "he found me in a compromising situation which he's managed to exploit for a few years now."

Jack's brow met his hat brim. "Do tell, what would that be?"

"It's a personal matter!" Gillette squawked.

Jack's face quirked with a scandalous realization. He chuckled. "Who was she?"

Gillette felt his bottom lip flutter against his teeth. His answer came from a quiet and ashamed voice. "She was Mr. Glen's wife."

"Governor Glen," Jack corrected. "And to keep the good Father quiet?"

"For his confidentiality, I divert a shipment of rice to his rebel mission and McNamara is able to barter in Charleston without penalty."

Jack now knew Father McNamara's hesitation in revealing Gillette's name. In order to help the people he cared about, Seamus had to smuggle within the very organization that had caused their distress. It was very likely that many would not give a moment's thought into how Seamus acquired the food and clothing he supplied them, but if they did, and found out he was moving merchandise within a Company controlled port and profiting from it, they'd either go without help and starve or take matters into their own hands, fail and get arrested, and then hung simply out of spite for feeling betrayed by the Samaritan priest. It was a risky gamble for Seamus, but one Jack could understand and even support.

Now seeing that the secrets of both McNamara and Gillette had been revealed to him by the other man, Jack feared that they might act out against each other. All that mattered to Jack was that harm would not befall innocent people in event of any repercussion. H, he hoped he could smooth things over with Gillette enough that he'd continue to look the other way and allow Seamus to fence his illegal goods in Charleston.

"The first man has been addressed, so let us commence discussion of the second, a commanding officer under the name of Greitzer. What makes this man significant?" he asked.

Gillette sneered. "Well, for one, if you have a problem with pirates, and want it eliminated, you contact Greitzer."

"Ah, finally, some progress."

Gillette was perplexed by Jack's optimism, his head tipped to one side in confusion.

"Tell me of Greitzer. Everything. From details of his command and location, to his personal grooming habits, I want all of it."

Gillette held his head in his hands, fretting what would befall him if anyone ever found out that he aided the pirate with information, even if it was by extortion, and felt certain he would hang and die as a traitor. A truly inappropriate end to his intermittently lustrous career.

"R'member... you're at gunpoint, Lieutenant." Jack hissed, and Gillette concluded that the pirate's potential wrath was far more dangerous than anything the Navy or the Company could ever be to him.

Gillette sighed heavily and massaged his throbbing temples as he talked in a hushed voice. "Greitzer is a strategist, one of the many brilliant minds behind the stride against piracy. The well-equipped fleet of Naval and requisitioned Company ships _undisputed _control of the seas ensure the Company's hold on global trade."

Jack's nose twitched at Gillette's asinine emphasis on _undisputed_. The man was bloody obnoxious.

"Building an insurgence of this magnitude was no hard feat after the sinking of the _H.M.S. Endeavor _and murder of Lord Beckett," Gillette continued. "That was a sizable blemish to the reputations of both the Navy and East India Company and, well, to be quite frank, really pissed off the Crown." He paused, then snipped, "I'd ask you to pardon my vulgarity, pirate, but a reprobate such as yourself would not know courtesy if it jumped up and bit you on the arse."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Such infallible logic you have there. Do go on."

As Gillette went into details over the Royal mandated increase of Naval presence in the Caribbean and of Greitzer's promotions_, _Jack fished inside his damp coat and found the key he'd lifted from Gillette's pocket when they meet so abruptly outside of his office. He turned it over in his hand before dropping it in his pocket. It could prove useful in the future. The real prize he'd stolen from the office was Gillette's ledger book with numerous documents stuffed between its bindings.

Balancing the ledger in one hand, he used the mouth of his pistol to flip through the pages all while circling outhouse. After the first set of pages, Jack glanced up at the outhouse and smirked to himself as he wondered just how long it would take Gillette to find the dead fish he'd hidden deep inside his desk. Returning his focus to the ledger, Jack found that not only was Gillette's assiduous but unkempt documentation very informative, but the collection of pages collaborated with what the official had been saying, effectively confirming that Gillette was telling the truth. That surprised Jack. He'd not expected the man to be so guileless. Perhaps Gillette had more of a conscience or backbone then Jack originally gave him credit for, or it was as simple as Gillette being too cowardly to lie. Either way, Jack was getting what he needed from the loose-lipped official.

Among the stolen papers were acquisition reports, collection records, and complaints placed by merchants ranging from issues with the Company itself to incidents with pirates, one of which was a formal request to move against the _Black Pearl _that had been submitted by Gillette himself. Jack beamed with pride seeing that his _Pearl _was not letting her reputation for to waste, even if she was under the command of Barbossa.

Jack listened quietly and intently, absorbing everything Gillette had to say, until his eyes fell upon something that made him stagger back a step. At the bottom of one of the papers, written on Company parchment, was the signature of Commodore David Greitzer.

A pang of undefinable indefinable emotion thundered in his chest at the site of the name. For several beats, it felt as if the world stopped as Jack pressed his flintlock down upon the signature and ran the muzzle along each letter, smudging the ink and searing it into his memory.

He would have remained entranced for longer if not for Gillette's next question.

"What of the third man?"

Jack jumped slightly. "Eh?"

"The third man? You obviously know the names of the first and second and possibly the fourth. So, who is this third man?"

Jack paled, then burned with anger as he remembered the preamble of his interrogation -_a departed third. _He became irrationally enraged that Gillette would even consider asking about the fallen Keeper.

He answered Gillette in an unsteady rasp. "He is of no consequence to you."

Jack paced a full circle around the outhouse, smoldering and fermenting. He skimmed over the pages that followed the document Greitzer had signed, but saw no further correspondence baring bearing his name. When he felt his anger reside enough for his control to return, he asked coolly, "Where does the reputable Commodore make berth?"

As Gillette went in to depth on Greitzer's Port Royal based command, Jack heard movement behind him. Glancing over his shoulder he saw two young women in maid's uniforms watching him warily. He turned and casually leaned with his back against the outhouse door, keeping the pistol concealed under his arm and still pointed at his captive, and with exaggerated facial expressions and nods, acted as if he was confirming what was written in the ledger for the man who talking inside.

Jack continued the charade for a few seconds before glancing up and pretending he had just noticed the two women were still in the courtyard. He presented his most charming smile, but despite his best efforts to appear unpretentious, they continued to scrutinize the stranger even as they entered an adjacent house. Jack determined that his time interrogating Gillette privately was nearing its end, as it would be mere moments before the suspicious maids alerted an audience.

Moving the conversation forward, Jack asked, "In similar nature as your clandestine arrangement with McNamara, would the commodore work in secret with a pirate to further his own gains?"

Gillette scoffed. "That is a slanderous and erroneous defamation! Commodore Greitzer is a decorated, exemplary officer of the Navy and loyal supporter of the East India Company. His accelerated rate of promotion is based on his dedication to ridding the seas of the vermin with which you have cast your lot." Gillette craned his neck and added arrogantly, "He is an avid pirate hunter, Mr. Sparrow. His fleet is swift, undaunted, and highly successful." He paused, then concluded caustically, "his only association with a pirate would be the ordering of its hanging."

Unfazed by the other man's threat, Jack uncocked his pistol, and returned it to his belt, and tucked the ledger inside his coat. "I'm havin' a thought, Lieutenant," he started, with exaggerated pleasantness. "Since you have been so helpful thus far, you can continue by informing Commodore Greitzer that Captain Jack Sparrow shall be having a word with him. If you can manage that, I give you me word to forget your dalliance with ol' what's-her-face and you and Seamus may continue on unchanged."

Gillette's brows met his wig. "Just how do you plan to live through that? To simply stroll up and meet with one of the most notorious pirate hunters in these waters. _Idiot. _You'll never make it out alive."

Jack grinned wolfishly, and leaned so his mouth was nearly brushing the wooden outhouse door. He answered Gillette's question with purpose. "Son, I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. Savvy?"

The reference to when the pirate spoke the same words when taking _Dauntless _from him years ago was not lost on Gillette and the Lieutenant Governor became incensed.

"You have nowhere to run, Sparrow! I shall track you down to all four points of the compass and see your neck properly fitted for a noose, one from which you will not escape!"

"There are thirty two points on a compass actually, so ya better get a good night's sleep before yeh get started," Jack said, casting the raving man a lopsided salute before disappearing into darkness.

"The rag-tag remnants of your pitiful buccaneer fleet will swing next to you on the gallows and without so much as a song to sing!" Unaware of Jack's departure, Gillette continued to shout irrationally.

When the pirate did not retort, Gillette's anger flared hotter. He leapt to his feet and lunged through the door still cursing the absent pirate at the top of his lungs. Failing to pull up his trousers before doing so, he promptly found the ground rising rapidly to meet his falling face upon clearing the outhouse door.

Hitting the ground with such force had knocked Gillette's wind from both his conniption and his lungs. He coughed and groaned, wondering how his day could possibly get any worse.

"Having trouble with our trousers are we, Lieutenant Governor?" came a mocking, feminine voice.

Suddenly, Gillette wished that the taunt had come from the pirate and not who he feared to be now in the courtyard. Gillette cringed and swallowed hard. He lifted his head enough to see Mrs. Blythe Canard, who was the water wheel of Charleston's rumor mill, standing not far from him with her two giggling maids.

Red faced, Gillette scurried to his feet. His jaw hang limp from its hinges as he was left dumb and disoriented from embarrassment.

Mrs. Canard, still waiting for some sort of explanation, looked the dusty man up and down, her cynical eyes hesitating below Gillette's waist.

"Perhaps just a bit?" Mrs. Canard pressed, causing her maids to erupt into opened-mouth laughter.

Mortified, Gillette cupped the little dignity he had left and cowed off to the nearest door with his trousers still circling his ankles.

* * *

Again, many thanks to Calathiel of Mirkwood for beta-ing this for me.

Historical notes:

Charleston, South Carolina, became the leading port and trading center of the southern colonies. Lumber, tar and resin from the longleaf pine provided some of the best shipbuilding materials in the world. North and South Carolina also produced and exported rice and indigo.

James Glen was appointed Governor of South Carolina by the Board of Trade in 1738 but did not arrive until 1743. (Note that PotC is a fictional universe, which, according to its writers, is set in a floating time period spanning thirty years around 1720. My story takes place a few years after the Battle of the Maelstrom)

The Board of Trade was an English governmental advisory body established by King William III in May 1696 to replace the Lords of Trade in the supervision of colonial affairs. The board was to examine colonial legislation and to recommend disallowance of those laws that conflicted with imperial trade policies, to nominate governors and other high officials for the colonies and to write the instructions for appointed governors, to recommend laws affecting the colonies, and to hear and to make reports on complaints from the colonies regarding imperial administration.


	8. Chapter 7: Josue Leocadio

****

- Chapter 7: Josue Leocadio -

"I know I can't hold the hate inside my mind  
'Cause what consumes your thoughts controls your life"

-What If, Creed-

-/-

"I've not seen one as impressive fer certain, all black and sleek as her. How did yeh come about a ship so fair?"

"Aye, Master Barbossa, the _Black Pearl_ is without equal. Fastest ship in all the Caribbean. Unmatched. A man of your talents will be of great benefit to her crew," Jack said, electing not to answer his new first mate's question.

Their shadows stretched far behind them as they left the docks and headed into the depraved belly of Tortuga. Both Jack and Barbossa were gaining due notoriety as successful pirates and strode confident through the streets, unconcerned about the reprobates that littered them or of the ones at their intended destination, the infamous Faithful Bride Pub. Being favored by the wickedest of cutthroats, it was the ideal place to find additions for the crew.

The two turned into the heavily shaded alley that lead to the pub. Consumed in discussing matters of stocking the _Black Pearl_ with men and supplies, they failed to notice that they were not alone and were being watched. It was when the last tip of their shadows became enveloped within the alley's obscurity that Jack found a hand closing around his throat, a pistol in his ribs, and his back slamming against a wall by a man who seemed to have materialized from the darkness itself.

"'Ello, Jackie," the man rumbled, his voice as foreboding as distant thunder.

"Teague," Jack sneered.

"Teague?" Barbossa stammered, but quickly recovered and spoke with respect. "Captain Teague, Keeper of the Code."

It wasn't until then that Teague turned his intimidating glare unto the first mate of his wayward son, a man of known reputation to him but of no current relevance, resulting in Barbossa realizing that he was interfering in a matter rather inconsequential to him.

"I shall be gettin' back to the ship, Captain," Barbossa said to Jack, although his eyes never left Teague.

Jack gave no response from where he remained pressed against the wall in Teague's grip, still staring angrily at his father.

"Captain Teague." Barbossa addressed the Keeper and left.

Not until Barbossa was out of view did Teague released Jack and return his pistol to his belt.

"Come," was all he said as he left the alley.

Jack knew it was an order best not ignored and followed without delay.

Not once did Teague turn to check if his boy had followed him or appear concerned to have his back turned to him. Jack followed a short distance behind, watching as his father walked the busy streets as if he owned them, the people seemingly parting to give the man a wide berth.

His destination was revealed soon enough. Teague led Jack into a private dining room located in the back of a tavern with furnished tables running along three of its walls, Unfortunately, the room smelled more of stale sweat and salt than the dinner being served in it.

Jack recognized many of the old _Misty Lady _crew strewn around the room, including Denning and Snodgrass, and judging by the varying looks they greeted him with, he was also far from forgotten in their memories, be they good or bad. It may have been only a simple coincidence, but Jack noticed that neither Petlock nor Bahr were present.

Teague crossed the room in the same manner as he walked the streets, each of his men greeting him with 'Captain'. He went to the table on the rear wall and it was with a simple twitch of his finger that he dismissed his men. Each rose from where they were perched to file out of the room without hesitating. Snodgrass, the last of the men to leave, lightly squeezed Jack's shoulder as he passed - be it with affection or sympathy, Jack could not decide.

When Snodgrass shut the door behind him, the only sounds in the room was gin being poured slowly into a glass.

To break the uncomfortable silence, Jack spoke first. "Didn't realize you were 'ere as I failed to see the _Lady_ in the harbor."

"There be more places to make port than jus' the docks," Teague said flatly before turning and leaning against the table.

He brought the glass to his lips and stared at Jack from over the brim, studying him for a long moment with intense eyes that gave nothing away. After his unhurried drink had been emptied and the glass returned to the table behind him, Teague straightened where he stood and extended his right hand.

It was very apparent that Teague would make no effort to meet him halfway. Jack conceded to this display of superiority and made the steps to take his father's hand. Teague moved as fast and purposeful as a striking serpent, gripping his son's hand tightly and using his left hand to jerk up Jack's right sleeve to see the brand just above his wrist. He examined the brand for several seconds, twisting Jack's arm in order to see every scorched corner of the telltale 'P'.

"Welcome to the Brotherhood." There was no surprise or mockery in his voice, only affirmation.

Jack winced, realizing the brand told his father more than just were he stood legally. Not only did it confirm any, if not all, questions about his working with the Company, betraying Cutler Beckett, and the burning and sinking of the _Wicked Wench_ as if he'd sewn the admission on his clothing, but it would no doubt raise questions of the origins behind the blackened ship he currently captained. Knowing his father was well as he did, Jack was certain that the man was already calculating different plausible scenarios.

Teague released his son's hand and leaned back against the table, forcefully casual. "It be smart to be more leery o'er who you shake hands with from here on out."

Jack gave the brand an accusing glance before shaking his sleeve back over it. "Evidently salutations are concluded." He backed to a table adjacent to the sidewall, making of show of not letting Teague out of his sight, and sat on top of it, picking from a plate of food that had been left there when the crew departed.

"Barbossa's a very ambitious man. Made quite a name fer himself," Teague said flatly, yet his face twitched in a way that suggested he was implying more.

Knowing that as the Keeper of the Code, where he was to remain neutral in all pirate affairs, Teague was edging toward stepping over the line by talking with him on this subject. Jack took time to think before speaking, keeping his words careful. "For a man whom you speak of so favorably, you appear to be going out of your way to nonchalantly imply that he be an initiator of treachery."

Teague said nothing, only stared unblinking as he removed a cigarette from his pocket and slipped it between his lips.

Jack sighed and rolled his eyes, giving in. "What makes you so sure?"

"Fer one, if our standings'd been reversed in that alley, Denning would'ave shown you yer own entrails before that flintlock cleared yer belt," Teague answered while lighting the cigarette, his voice absent of sarcasm and heavy with warning. He breathed in a long drag. "'First mate' will not satisfy him," he exhaled, circles of smoke accenting his each word.

Teague held the cigarette and looked at the smoldering tip. Shaking his head, he muttered to himself in a dry chuckle, "The two of you on one ship...eh, she'll go down in flames."

Jack knew that Teague had chosen his words intentionally, referring to his previous command, and his defensive side bared its teeth. "Yer not one to intervene in my fate. What is it you want, exactly?"

Teague became visibly agitated, stiffened were he still leaned against the table, and snubbed the cigarette out in his palm. His eyes narrowed, searching and penetrating, and he asked with great seriousness, "It's said yer sailing from port to port in search of a crew for a voyage to a place that can only be found by those who know where it is. Do you know where it is?"

Jack took the appearance of being in deep thought. "Not yet," he said after a moment.

"If no one knows where it be, 'cept those who do know where it is, which you are not one of, how are you getting there? There's no map."

"Yes, with no map, but getting there jus' the same," Jack answered through a mouth full of food.

"Where yah getting yer bearings?"

"The usual, nautical way. Currents, sextant, sun dial..." Jack listed flippantly, even as Teague's face reddened, "spy glass, hour glass, compass-"

Annoyed by his son talking in circles and his insubordinate tone, Teague tore the compass from his belt and shook it. "Yer compass is... _broken," he_ finished when the top flipped open. "It doesn't e'en point north, boy."

"Not going north, er...or am I?" Jack said impishly, finger tapping his chin. "Depends on where it directs me, really."

The lines on Teague's forehead furrowed. After a short second, his eyes went wide as he suddenly understood what Jack was implying.

"Where'd yah get this?" he rasped quietly, flinching at the compass in his palm.

As most pirates were, Teague was a superstitious man. If this compass was of the supernatural, it meant that its origin was of the same means, and no one who bartered with the supernatural were ever left unsullied.

Jack snatched the compass from Teague's hand and returned it to his belt. "Has naught to do with the Code. Nor does my heading or method of deciphering it. Don't see where yer in position to interfere or supplicate, benevolent or otherwise." His chin and tone rose with defiance. "Let us not forget our place."

Infuriated and cursing under his breath, Teague grabbed his boy by the shirtfront and ripped him off the table to his feet, roughly enough to knock several plates and Jack's tricorne to the floor. The dark leather caught Teague's attention from the corner of his eye and he glanced at it, recognizing it in that fleeting second as the one he'd given his son long before. Teague released Jack's shirt with a jerk and took a step back.

Still angry but in control, Teague strained to keep from shouting. "I speak as yer father-"

"Bit late fer that now, don't you agree?" Jack spat, interrupting. "Stand off, Keeper!"

His three words were as effective as drawing a line in the sand indicating the boundaries of their relationship.

Teague tried one last attempt at reasoning with his son. "The treasure you seek is said to be cursed. Jus' try not to do anythin'," his hands came up, groping the air for the right word,"... stupid."

He knew the word he'd found was wrong for as soon as it had cleared his lips, Jack pivoted on his heal, scooped up his tricorne, and stormed for the door.

"Jackie," Teague called quietly.

Jack hesitated in the doorway, barely long enough for his father to pass on the message.

"Yer mother sends her love."

_-/-_

Morning light spilled in through the single window of the small room announcing the night had come to its end. He'd watched the beam of light for what felt like hours, from when it first filtered in through the glass, its slow progression across the floor, to end pinpointed on his dilated eyes. The familiar sting coinciding with the morning after a night of over-indulgence and little rest. Not that the small amount of sleep he did get amounted to much for it had been fitful and restless. It seemed not even in Tortuga, the city of endless debauchery and wanton distraction, could he escape the tormenting visions that entered his mind when he slumbered.

The memory of speaking with his father for the first time after he'd turned pirate had not been overly disastrous, but he'd had always regarded it an ill-tasting milestone and one he should have handled with less antagonism. The advice that Teague had tried to give fell on the deaf ears of a defiant son set to make it on his own. In hindsight, if he had listened, Jack could have spared himself an extreme amount of misfortune. Live and learn.

Unlike the one from years ago, this stop in Tortuga had not been a scheduled one. A miserable and off-season squall forced the _Misty Lady_ west and off-course. Although it cut into the little precious time he had until his rendezvous in Plymouth, the side stop proved to not be in waste for he gained some very useful material.

The first was a set of fine new linens he purchased for his bed on the _Misty Lady. _The old ones were promptly tossed overboard.

The second was news delivered to him by Denning when the first mate returned from shore leave. The _Sterling_ had yet to make it to a Caribbean shore, but word that its captain had been found dead in his cabin midway in its voyage from England had.

A pesky thorn in the Brethren's side, no sympathy would be let for Leocadio, by the next morning he'd be dismissed completely. The importance of Denning's news was that it confirmed the Caribbean was about to be introduced to the Virginal Widow. Unlike the Brethren, Laura'd never forget what the man had done. Her vengeance was complete, but she still had a part to play in his. Laura was not one to deviate from plan.

At the advent of this good fortune, and still reveling his successful torturing of Gillette, he set out with the crew for celebration. But as the evening progressed, his mood dampened. Potentially troublesome information was revealed to Jack, not from hearsay or by other word of mouth, but from his own hip. The _Black Pearl _had suddenly changed course and was now moving south at a fast pace_. _Jack knew that there could be several plausible reasons for the abrupt new heading, such as a target too fat to pass, but Jack remained wary and was determined to monitor the _Pearl's_ movements closely until her destination became clear.

Yet more curious and alarming, was that his compass no longer followed the _Pearl _with a steadfast and unwavering conviction. Several times now, when checking his ship's location, the needle would flit about the compass's face before finding target. It was unsettling that what he 'wanted the most' was, again, in apparent question.

Thus, the night's drinking, which had started out as celebratory, turned into one of unease.

Now as he lay awake, squinting from the rays of an overeager sun, he found himself in this current position of hungover and contemplative.

He'd been weighing rallying the _Misty Lady's_ crew behind him, to intercept and take on the Pearl, but time would not allow such a volley and risk of damage or the total destruction of one or both ships was very likely. He decided that pursuing her now would be irresponsible.

_' Irresponsible... bloody worrisome Gibbs needs to fret less.'_

Jack grunted where he lay, causing the warm body next to him to stir in her sleep but not wake. Silently now, Jack mulled his recent talk with Gibbs. Even with Gibbs being a man who he'd always been able to trust completely, one of few who he'd call friend, it had still been difficult for Jack to ask for the man's help. Jack was having a hard time not interpreting Gibbs' open reluctance as a lack in confidence in him. Considering the abundant amount of faith the man bequeathed in the Code, it seemed reasonable that some could be bestowed on ol' Jack, especially when taking into account their past accomplishments.

Jack had to roll his stinging eyes at himself at that moment. There was an equal amount of failures mixed in with those loosely called accomplishments. Beyond that was the certain fact that Gibbs was now a happily married man and Jack knew well that the love for a woman could cause a man to do uncharacteristic things.

Even if sending Gibbs to speak with Johannes appeared to be a simple matter on the surface, Jack knew there must be a reason behind the apprehension that was also inside of him. Perhaps there was validity in Gibbs' reluctance, especially if he was second guessing himself. He'd give Gibbs the benefit of the doubt for his doubt. He sighed mentally, thinking his conscience always picked the most conflicting times to make itself heard.

He knew he had to keep his mind clear of uncertainties, at least as much as possible, for he had to focus on Commodore Greitzer, a man who could prove to be an astute adversary.

It was extremely unusual for a man to rise in rank as fast as Greitzer reportedly had, especially considering his lack of battlefield experience, unless he was a man backed by a powerful family or possessed a solid source of blackmail against a Nobel. Even if it wasn't Greitzer himself who pulled the trigger on his father, being it occurred at New Shipwreck, Jack knew in his bones that the man was somehow involved, to what magnitude was still uncertain. He was determined to make good on the message that Gillette was surely to pass on to Greitzer and pay the man a visit, though he'd yet to figure out how'd he make it past the barricades of Fort Charles.

Before he did any of that, he needed to get up and back to the _Misty Lady_. He rolled over, out of the light's grip, and found himself blanketed in Giselle's golden curls. He propped himself up on an elbow and looked down over her sleeping form. Her dainty hands were tucked up under her chin, clutching the blanket tightly, giving her a child's innocence. Her usually painted face was clean of cosmetic, allowing the natural rosy hue of her cheeks to warm her face. She was truly lovely laying there -bare, in so many ways- in the morning's light. With a gentlemen's touch, he gently swept a lock away from her forehead and kissed her there tenderly. He breathed her in, the scent of her perfume redolent of visits past, and the pirate in him grinned back.

_'Another port boarded and plundered and all done with but a single weapon. I'm what legends are made from.'_ He thought to himself, self-satisfied smirk in place. '_And like all great conquests, a swift and evasive exit insures victory.' _

He slithered quietly out of Giselle's bed without waking her, pulled on his breeches, left her payment on the nightstand, and climbed out her window to the street below where Hector sat patiently as he finished dressing and adjusted his effects.

"Come," Jack ordered Hector and walked down the street towards the docks without giving a single look back.


End file.
